Tomorrow Lingers
by Aconitum-Napellus
Summary: Spock/Chapel. Mature Content. A follow on from the TOS episode Return To Tomorrow. Henoch did more than Spock realised while occupying his body. How will he deal with the consequences? Contains mature emotional themes, but very little sex!
1. Chapter 1

1.

*_It's a good thing I'm a nurse.*_

That was Christine's first thought, after the initial flutter of panic and shock had faded away.

*_A good thing I have access to medical scanners, medical supplies, medical *_knowledge*. _A good thing I've been so damn dedicated to studying Vulcan biology, and Vulcan-human biology. The optimum ratio of haemoglobin to cuproglobin for oxygen absorption, the unique sound of the Vulcan-human heart…_*

Her thoughts trailed off into the half panicked, half eager, confused chaos to which they kept recurring at the moment. This was a _*life_*. This was a tiny, defenceless spark of life taking refuge in the depths of her body. A hunted being hiding in warm, dark, blood-enriched folds, clinging on with every ounce of determination, every imperative of evolution and the natural drive of cells to multiply and continue. Could people tell that there was a minute being clinging to her for survival? That the world outside her own body was as lethal to it as the empty depths of space beyond the skins of the _Enterprise_ were to her?

She cradled her arms around her body, hugging herself, it seemed. Hugging something that she thought she might love, even though she had never set eyes upon it. Hugging something that would destroy her life as she knew it.

'Are you cold, Christine?'

She almost jumped out of her skin.

'Oh – oh, no, Len,' she said quickly, dropping her arms to her side, turning back to the supply cupboard that she had been steadily reorganising into a wilderness of nonsense.

'Christine,' McCoy said in a softer voice, closing his hand around her wrist and moving it away from the cupboard. 'Why don't you break off your shift early, and go take a rest? Unless you want to kill a patient by mislabelling any more of these drugs? It's been a strange couple of days. I certainly wouldn't have wanted to have Spock's immortal soul jostling about in my head. I don't know how you stood it!'

'Oh – er – it was – ' she began, then shook her head. She really was living up to the image of the dumb blonde today… Was this how it would be from now on? Her thoughts constantly split between two living beings? 'I don't know. I guess it was harder for them – for the captain, and Mr Spock, and Dr Mulhall. I mean, they were marooned in – well, in _*nothing_*. I know Mr Spock, for one…'

She trailed off again. The one imperative she had gained from Spock on his leaving her consciousness was _*don't tell_*. He was private, he kept his thoughts and feelings close inside himself. The last thing he wanted was her babbling about all those things running loose in his ordered mind.

But if he knew the thoughts and feelings that had been snaking in her mind… Surely he knew? He must know what Henoch had done with her. The evidence of his body and her mind would spell it out, surely it would… And Henoch had behaved as any proper, suave, right-minded villain from literature should do. He had been given almost total freedom after an imprisonment of aeons, and he had grasped his chance. She blamed him as little as she blamed Spock.

Henoch, she recalled, had been seductive, charming. He had been dark and smooth, coming alongside her like a cat, with the warmth of a cat in a sunbeam. His voice had been a low purr in her ear. He had used every fibre of his body – of Spock's body – to entice her. The scent of him, the sight of him, the _*aliveness_* of every cell of his being, the soft fingers of his mind probing into hers, stroking her consciousness, drawing her in…

It had been she who had leaned forward first, her lips that had moved towards his, her hand that had slipped about the hot skin of his neck. Perhaps he had done that, using Spock's telepathic powers to bewilder her mind. Perhaps he had cast out a line, and caught her, and ever so gently reeled her in. But she had not been bucking and thrashing on the hook – she had been hauling herself towards him, hand by hand, desperate for the hunter's touch, desperate to pass his lips and become part of him.

'_*Chris!_*'

McCoy's voice snapped her out of the fantasy. She had been falling again… Oh, it *_had*_ been a fantasy. It had not been Spock. It had been Spock as so many women must want him to be – emotional Spock, smiling Spock, lustful, ruthless, powerful Spock. Spock's body driven by another's mind. That body had been – exquisite. But when she thought about it, when the clouds of lust parted for a moment, sadness stabbed through. Spock's mind had been absent. _*Spock_* had been absent…

'_*Chris!_*' McCoy snapped again. His hand was cupping her elbow. His blue eyes were filled with concern. He was slipping his medical scanner back into his pocket, and trying to nudge her to walk towards the door.

She shook herself. 'I'm sorry, Doctor. I don't know what's wrong with me,' she said confusedly, trying to smile.

'_*Go to bed_*,' he said emphatically. 'Now, that's a medical order. Do you hear?'

'Yes, sir,' she murmured, wrapping her arms about her torso again. 'I will. Thank you. Thank you, Leonard.'

'That's it,' McCoy nodded, propelling her gently into the corridor as the door slid open. 'You get your rest.'

As the door hissed closed he took his scanner out of his pocket again, taking it to the desk and transferring the results to his medical tricorder.

'You're going to need it,' he said, running his eyes over hormone levels, blood pressure and heart rate. 'You're definitely going to need it.'

******

Christine went to her quarters feeling lighter than air, heavier than lead. She felt like a concoction of clichés, full of every mixed emotion that every woman who had ever found herself in such a situation had felt. But then, what woman had, precisely, found herself in this situation? Non-corporeal beings, mind control, having intercourse with a man's body when his soul was absent, with a man she had loved for years who wasn't even there…

No. It was an age-old story, but she couldn't imagine that anyone had ever experienced it quite as she was right now.

She sank into the antique wing-back armchair in her quarters in a dreamlike state, curling her feet up underneath her body. She had always liked this chair, from her earliest memories of crawling into it as a tiny girl and feeling the safety of the dark wings that seemed to protect her. A safe place in the dark, old-fashioned, barely used parlour, where she could sit and curl her dark hair around her fingertips and think of things beyond that room and beyond that world. No one ever thought of looking for her there, of chivvying her to the music practice and extra-curricular study that was continually pushed on her as a bright child in a good family. She slipped through the net, and she sat in the darkness, and thought… She had always imagined finding herself somewhere outside of New England tradition and safety. She had never imagined this, though…

She touched a hand to her abdomen, let it lie there softly. Hard to believe that there was another life-form growing in there. There was no difference beneath her hand. Women were supposed to be able to _*tell_*. She couldn't tell – not by anything but the cold, clear science of medical scanners, and by the undercurrent of fear that the results had provoked. She had only tested herself because she knew what had happened, and knew it was a scientific possibility, not because she had experienced some mystical, intuitive insight. She had formed a theory, ran the appropriate tests, and examined the results. Spock would undoubtedly approve.

Spock…

What was she to do about Spock? For now, this was _*hers_*. It was her secret, her problem. It had very little to do with Spock. It had everything to do with Spock…

How was she to approach the logical, unemotional, upright First Officer of the _Enterprise_, and tell him, 'Sir, it appears that you have gotten me pregnant. Neither of us were exactly consenting in the act. Nevertheless, I have decided to keep it.'

She could not even begin to imagine how Spock would react. That news, she knew, would pierce straight through his rigid, controlled exterior like a poisoned arrow. It would stagger him. But still, she had no idea how he would react.

In all of her fantasies about Spock, she had never imagined this…

******

Her first hint that the secret was not solely hers was when McCoy kept looking at her strangely. Then when he suggested, very casually, that vitamin supplements were a good idea for any woman of her age to consider. Then when, on seeing her coming from the storeroom with a heavy box of medicines, he practically snatched it from her arms and carried it over to the supply cupboard himself, muttering under his breath about it being crazy that nurses were expected to do the jobs of orderlies on this ship.

She stopped in her tracks then and there, folded her arms across her chest, and asked him plainly, 'Leonard, what exactly is it that you know about me that's got you stopping me from doing my job?'

He met her blue eyes with the clear gaze of his own, and said directly, 'I know that you're pregnant. And I know that _*you_* know that you're pregnant. And I know precisely who the father is. I'm pretty certain that _*he_* doesn't know, though.'

Christine exhaled swiftly. Although she had known what he was going to say, hearing him state it like that was a different thing.

'He doesn't need to know yet,' she said, shaking her head with a quick, dismissive smile. Odd that she was avoiding the direct subject of the pregnancy by talking about the one facet of it she had hardly allowed herself to face up to yet. 'It's not going to help him to know.'

'Christine, *_you're carrying his child*_,' McCoy said insistently. 'He has a right to know. He doesn't even know he slept with you, does he?'

'He didn't sleep with me,' she said in a low voice, her mind turning against her will to the sight of him, lustful, naked, aroused. 'Henoch slept with me. It was – all Henoch, none of Spock.'

'Christine.'

McCoy reached out, took both of her hands, squeezed them gently in his. Her first thought was how warm and reassuring his hands were. Her second was that they were not nearly as hot as Spock's hands had been…

'Christine,' McCoy repeated. 'This isn't just some one night stand. It's not like if you don't tell him he'll never know. Spock's going to be a father. He deserves to know that before it starts getting obvious.'

She looked up at him, startled dismay in her eyes. It was going to show. Of course she knew that. But to have McCoy state that obvious fact suddenly set in concrete everything that was going to happen. She was going to bear and give birth to a child. She lived on a ship of four hundred and thirty fit, athletic, young people who, day by day, wore sleek, fitting uniforms. There was no way of disguising this with baggy clothes or the excuse of weight gain. The baby would grow, and it would become obvious, and then everyone, _*everyone_*, would know.

'I'll tell him,' she said finally. 'I will, I promise. I just – need to find a good time.'

McCoy actually laughed at that. It was not a merry or a cruel laugh. It was just a manifestation of his reaction to the idea of finding a _*good time_* to tell Spock that he was going to be a father, when as far as Spock knew he had never come closer to Christine than touching her hands one time in sick bay when they were both drunk with the Psi 2000 virus.

She smiled, and then laughed too. It was, after all, a relief that someone else knew – and that the one person who did know was the single most valuable person on the ship to her in her condition.

'Come on, missy,' the doctor said gruffly, taking her by the arm and leading her towards his office. 'I've been waiting to talk to you about this. We need to discuss medical monitoring, food supplements, your work schedule. I've got a lot of medical literature to go through with you.'

She smiled again, thinking of the hours of private study she had put in after duty in her quarters recently.

'If it's about Vulcan-human pregnancies, Leonard, then I've probably read it,' she told him frankly. 'But I would be very happy to discuss it all with you.'


	2. Chapter 2

2.

Four months later

Even with the shields at maximum and every inertial damper at full strength, the storm battered at the ship, tossing it like driftwood through what was normally a harmless void. It was inevitable that every now and then an ion storm would occur that was unavoidable, and the best course of action was simply to batten down the hatches and ride it through – but this was a particularly violent one, and no matter how little there was _*outside_* for the ship to impact with, there was plenty _*inside_* for human bodies to slam and crash against at every lurch.

Spock barely reacted as the turbolift doors opened – he was concentrating fully on his various sensors and readouts as he tried to plot some kind of course that would take them through the storm as soon as possible. He had a basic trajectory plotted into the computer, but the storm was ever-changing phenomenon, and every few seconds minute alterations had to be made in the course.

'Spock.'

McCoy's voice at his shoulder caused him to turn. The doctor's voice was quiet – grave, even – but its very quietness paradoxically caused him to be more audible against the snapped orders and whooping alarms in the background.

Spock turned to the doctor. 'Be brief,' he said without preamble.

'There were four crewmen injured by falling debris in weapons control,' McCoy said quietly. 'Nothing serious, just cuts and bruises. Nurse Chapel went down to see to them – but another beam fell, and she's trapped in there with them.'

Spock nodded briefly, then turned back to his console.

'I thought you might like to know, Spock,' the doctor continued uncertainly. 'Since – er – since it's Christine down there.'

Spock turned a steady, questioning gaze on him. 'Why do you believe the news would be of specific interest to me, Doctor?'

McCoy's eyes widened. 'Spock, hasn't she told you yet?' he asked cautiously.

'Told me what, Doctor?' Spock asked tersely. 'I am very busy.'

'Dammit, I've been telling her to tell you for weeks,' McCoy cursed. He seemed to undergo some kind of internal battle, and then finally he said, 'Spock – she's pregnant.' At Spock's blank expression he said quickly, 'She's pregnant by Henoch. By _*you_*, Spock.'

In the entire length of time he had known Spock he had never seen him go so quickly and utterly white. He reached out blindly, his hand closing convulsively on the edge of his console.

'I don't – ' he began, then broke off, shaking his head.

His expression changed from one of shock to one of hard, repressed fury. All of the chaos on the bridge had faded away, his focus narrowed down to this very different storm inside of his head.

'No,' he said flatly. 'I _*do_* understand. That – creature…'

He trailed off, lost for words.

'He violated you both, Spock,' McCoy said softly. 'I know you don't remember. You weren't there, so to speak, but – '

'No,' Spock said quietly. 'You are quite wrong. I _*do_* remember. I had thought it to be nothing more than a dream…'

'But how – ' McCoy began.

At that point he didn't have the presence of mind to wonder at the fact that Spock had not been surprised at experiencing an erotic dream about the Head Nurse of the _Enterprise_, and instead of following it up had dismissed it from his mind.

Spock shook his head impatiently. 'Events were impressed on memory engrams in _*my_* brain, Doctor. I have no conscious recall of them, but they _*are_* there…'

McCoy blinked. He hadn't thought for an instant that the memories of those few days might linger on in the brains of the hosts. Jim and Dr Mulhall, of course, would never have the mental discipline to access them – but a Vulcan was a different matter.

'Doctor, you said a beam fell. Is the nurse injured?' Spock asked, pulling him back to the more relevant topic.

'That's just it, Spock – I don't know,' McCoy said helplessly. 'I got word about the beam through a crewmember outside the room – but communications are down, so – '

He blinked. Spock was no longer beside him, but the doors to the elevator were shutting with serene precision, unconscious of the turmoil in the ship around them.

******

Some kind of fury seemed to be unleashing itself on the blockage across the weapons control door. Christine could not hear any machinery or phaser fire outside – just the wrenching and groaning of very, very heavy things being moved and flung aside. She met the eyes of young Ensign Winters, and smiled.

'I told you they'd get us out, didn't I?' she asked brightly.

Ensign Winters nodded wordlessly, glancing at the damaged door. He was the youngest, newest crewmember trapped in the room, and he was also the worst injured. He had lost a good deal of blood from a gash in his leg, and blood loss and fright were conspiring to send him into shock.

'Bear up, Al,' Lieutenant Marvin said to him, patting him briefly on the shoulder. 'The nurse here's right. Just a few more minutes now…'

Christine smiled at the lieutenant gratefully as Winters relaxed. It seemed that the ensign put more trust in the words of his co-workers than in hers. The three senior officers in the room had spent most of their time since the collapse in reassuring Ensign Winters, and their combined efforts had distracted themselves from the situation as much as it had distracted Winters.

'Here we are,' Marvin continued with a grin, as a gap appeared between the two doors, fingers slid through, and the panels were wrenched apart by sheer physical effort.

They had been expecting a team of engineers and medical staff. What they did not expect was a wild-eyed Vulcan with torn hands staring into the room, quickly composing himself as he registered the presence of the men inside. Spock inhaled deeply, and instinctively straightened his top, leaving dark green blood stains on the blue fabric. His eyes instantly caught Christine's, and held them.

'Nurse,' he said in a fast but level tone. 'Are you uninjured?'

'Oh, I'm quite fine, Mr Spock,' she said quickly, getting to her feet. 'It's these men here – '

Spock's hand instantly cupped under her elbow as she moved, helping her to rise as a small team of medical personnel pushed past them. An odd recollection pushed over her at the heat of his fingers on her arm. Henoch, steering her towards the bed in her quarters. Henoch, peeling the clothes from her body…

Before she quite knew what was happening Spock had escorted her out of the room and a little way down the corridor. All activity was crowded around weapons control. They were quite alone.

'You are certain you are well?' Spock asked insistently, his eyes travelling from her face, down to her abdomen, and then back again. _*Four months_*. It had been four months since Henoch had taken control of his body. He could just discern a slight curvature of her normally flat stomach.

'I'm _*fine_*,' she promised. 'Not a scratch on me.'

Spock took in a deep breath. He looked down briefly at his injured hands, then back up at her. His eyes were unreadable. He opened his mouth as if to speak, then suddenly turned away from her, fixing his gaze on the wall instead as if he would read forgotten lines in the paint.

'He – told you, didn't he?' she asked hesitantly. 'Dr McCoy?'

Spock turned back to her, and she caught the instant of the veil of control being lowered over bewildered emotions. His eyes were briefly searching, and then expressionless again.

He nodded, once. 'I am slightly dismayed, however, to learn of this _*after_* you had told the good doctor,' he said steadily.

She shook her head miserably. 'I didn't tell him. He just – found out. He happened to scan me without my realising.'

'Ah,' Spock nodded sagely. 'How very like McCoy.'

'I wanted to tell you,' she continued. 'Really I did. I just didn't know how…'

It was obvious that she was telling the truth. It was written on her face as clearly as if he had melded with her. But he said in a hard voice, 'If McCoy had not spoken, would I ever have learned about that which is to be my child?'

Her expression faltered for a moment. He thought she was going to cry – but with admirable discipline she fought her way back to composure, and said in a crisper tone, 'I *_would*_ have told you. I can't do more than give you my word for that, Mr Spock.'

Spock nodded, his expression unreadable. His eyes moved down to her stomach again, almost of their own will – and then he refocused firmly on her face.

'I must return to duty,' he said in a level tone.

'You're injured,' she protested, her professional conscience taking over from personal concerns. 'Let me see to your hands,' she said, reaching out to them.

'No,' Spock said, then more firmly, 'No. It is – inappropriate. I will go to the sickbay.'

He held her gaze for one more second, then a veil seemed to have lowered in his eyes. He turned stiffly, and walked away down the corridor, ignoring the chaos behind him.

*******

Spock did not return to duty, and he did not report to sickbay. Instead, as if he was being driven by something external to his own mind, he walked in silence to his quarters and stepped in through the door. He looked down at his hands again as the door hissed shut behind him. The cuts there were beginning to sting as he allowed himself to feel the pain.

He went into the bathroom and ran his hands under cool water. Then he swabbed the water away and dropped the blood-soiled towel into the laundry chute. He opened a cupboard on the wall, found antiseptic cream and bandages, and carefully dressed the wounds. He had lifted debris outside weapons control that four male crewmembers had not been able to move. It was no wonder that his hands were damaged.

Spock returned to his living quarters, and sat down in silence behind the desk. The red alert siren was no longer whooping. The storm seemed to have passed. The ship was no longer bucking and shaking, and he noticed that the light on his desk communicator was blinking. Communications must have been restored. He reached out and pressed the button, saying in a flat voice, 'Bridge. Captain Kirk.'

Jim replied instantly, with a mixture of concern and annoyance in his voice.

'Spock! What the hell just happened?'

Spock hesitated for a moment. He had no intention, on an open communication to the bridge, of saying, _*I was told that I had inadvertently impregnated a member of the ship's crew, and I was concerned for her safety_.* He had no intention of saying anything at all on the matter to the captain as yet. He had little choice but to prevaricate.

'Dr McCoy informed me of a number of crewmembers, trapped in weapons control,' he said steadily. 'I judged that I was needed.'

'Well,' Kirk began, sounding confused. 'You got them out safely, Spock?'

'I did,' Spock nodded, 'but in doing so I sustained some small injury to my hands. May I request to be relieved for the remainder of my shift?'

'Of course,' Kirk said instantly. It was unusual for Spock to ask to be relieved, but not unprecedented. 'We're out the other side of the storm. It's just damage control now.'

'Thank you, sir,' Spock nodded, then cut the communication.

He leant back in his chair, steepling his fingers before his face. It was impossible to deny that he had reacted emotionally to the news that McCoy had so unceremoniously sprung upon him on the bridge. Anger, mortification, and … fear. Yes, it was fear that was washing through both those other emotions. Fear of … this immense change that was about to be wrought on his life. A child… He was going to be father to a child, with none of the secure web of Vulcan family rituals behind him. He had no bonded partner, no ideal Vulcan wife and home back on Vulcan. He had – a woman with golden hair, a human woman who loved him hopelessly, with whom he had no proper relationship. Both of them on an active starship, both sundered from one another by a gulf of mixed emotions, the only thread holding them together being a tiny life that fluttered in her womb.

Spock sighed. The breath that he exhaled was minutely shaky, and he steadied it. Perhaps the only way to understand the future was to understand the past that had formed it. He had, as he had said to McCoy, experienced a dream about Miss Chapel after regaining control of his body from Henoch. It had startled him, it was true – but he had accepted it as no more than the movings of his unconscious mind. Despite all of his Vulcan training, he still experienced dreams in a very human way, a way to which his mother his mother could relate, to which his father only responded with bewilderment. He had dreamt about her before. She had burned in his mind at pon farr. She had been in his dreams when his controls were loosened after the Psi 2000 virus. He did, he had to admit, think of her more than he thought of other women on board the ship. Her face was attractive. Her mind was attractive. But he was not currently in need of a relationship, so there was no logic in positioning himself in such entanglement.

But this dream… He had been troubled by odd memories since those events – his own voice, speaking with alien intonations. His hand reaching out to a face he recognised as Dr Ann Mulhall, a face Henoch saw only as *_Thalassa*_. Memories of burning emotions that he himself had barely experienced – emotions that he associated with a corrupted psyche. The fascination of standing before a full length mirror and examining his own nude body, a body both intimately familiar to him, and which he had never seen before. An odd, voyeuristic pleasure…

In all honesty, he did not want to probe those memories. He did not want to understand Henoch's desires and motivations. They were alien to him – more alien even than a human's mind. He was fearful of Henoch's mindset influencing his own. Fearful of infection, corruption, contamination. That fear had to be pushed aside. Truly understanding what had happened between Henoch and Miss Chapel – or between himself and Miss Chapel, for he had to acknowledge that he himself had been intimately involved – was of paramount importance.

He lowered his hands, lit his meditation flame, and then resumed the posture of concentration. He did not always need to use his flame, but this time he thought he needed the focus it would give him. This time he was not examining his own thoughts and feelings. He was examining another man's memories – another man's actions inside his own body.

He stared into the wavering flame before him, let himself sink into its depths, let his eyes slip their focus, and began to remember…

Lying on a bed in the sickbay ward. The mattress, firm and comfortable under the length of his body. A sense of anticipation.

The transfer beginning. An odd, slipping sensation of vertigo. Being suddenly weightless, blind, disconnected…

No. He was slipping down the easy route, following the memories at the forefront of his awareness. He had to access those memories that were hidden from him, that were traced delicately on his mind in fading ink, whispered somewhere behind his consciousness.

Lying on a bed in the sickbay ward. The mattress, firm and comfortable under the length of his body. A sense of anticipation.

The transfer beginning. An odd, slipping sensation of vertigo. Being suddenly –

He gasped involuntarily, the first breath of life after millennia, the sharp movement of his ribcage threatening to pull him out of the meditation. He struggled, pushing himself back into the depths like a diver desperately fighting against the density of water.

The transfer beginning. An odd, slipping sensation of vertigo. Being suddenly – enlivened. _*Joy!*_ Immense, consuming joy at physicality, light, movement – _*power_*. Oh, the joy…

He found himself shrinking from the unrestrained emotion of Henoch. The exuberant chaos of his thoughts was overwhelming.

He distanced himself. It was not necessary to examine every sordid thought in Henoch's mind. It struck him that this was akin to performing a mindmeld on his own mind. He should approach it as such, navigating his way through irrelevancies until he found the knowledge he was seeking.

Christine. He was looking for the brightness of her image amongst the dull unpleasantness of Henoch's thoughts. Something he had already seen in a dream…

He found her.

The blond nurse, walking down the corridors at the end of her shift. The pleasing movement of her hips under the brief blue uniform. The air of distraction that hung about her since the mind touch that he had initiated. Oh, this Vulcan's body was useful…

Walking smoothly after her, in the knowledge that she was heading towards her quarters. Slipping through her door after her before she could shut it, before she could protest. Her brief exclamation of surprise.

Coming upon her, close and fast, pressing her against the wall. Her lips on his, her hand curling about his neck, her fingers cool and soft. Alien tastes of her breath, the wetness of her mouth. The small, animal noises she made. Hungry for her… It had been so long…

A mental sense of her confusion, this mental ability of his becoming frustrating. Not wanting to sense her desire, her fear. A selfish lust, wanting to do nothing but satisfy his own longing.

He put his hands to the scooped neck of her dress. He used his strength to tear the fabric like tissue. He peeled her like fruit, dropping the rind about her on the floor. The scents of her body flooded around him. He could see her pupils dilating in a mixture of fear and anticipation, her chest moving faster as her breaths came short and sharp. Her breasts, round and firm, her milky skin, the dark hair between her legs drawing his eyes, building an insatiable hunger.

He had her on the floor. He was fumbling urgently at his own clothes with one hand, releasing that which was straining against the fabric of his trousers, holding her down easily with his other hand. Straddling her naked form. Entering her… Oh, the pleasure of that sliding movement to his yearning flesh…

And later he was naked too, and he was all over her, tasting her as she writhed in pleasure, allowing her hands to trace over his body, instructing her to pleasure him, telling her with his mind exactly where to touch, where to stroke, where to place her tongue. It went on and on. This Vulcan body was inexhaustible, and she was forbidden rest. The night darkened, then thinned, turned to dawn, and she was tottering, exhausted, her face pale and bloodless. He was untiring. He had waited millennia, and this fresh female body was his to command. The ability to have her obey him as a doll was almost as intoxicating as the act himself.

He ordered her one last time to spread herself for him, to give herself up to him, and then, at last, he left her. There would be plenty of time again tonight, and the night after, and – yes, when he had done away with this stupid human crew he would take her with him – her and any other females particularly attractive to him. He had that power. He had that _*right_*.

He went to the bathroom, meticulously cleansing this borrowed body, admiring the sleek musculature and dark hair in the mirror as he stood there. He had acquired a good, virile, attractive body, and with his superior mind the possibilities were endless.

He returned to the bedroom, smiled down benevolently at her as she lay exhausted on the bed. She had pleased him. He made sure she self-administered a stimulant to cover the traces of her sleepless night, and he left the room...

Spock came back to himself with a gasp, shaking. His hands had slipped from their position in front of him and were gripping the arms of his chair, his knuckles standing out white against his skin. He was panting, hot, breathless, and – *_aroused*_. He could feel the solidity and heat of his erection pushing against his clothing, just as it had in the memory. He yearned for –

_*No!_*

This was his precise fear. Henoch, influencing his thoughts. Henoch, controlling his desires. Henoch was dead, non-existent – but he was there, behind him, touching him on the shoulder, whispering to him where to look, what to think…

He stood abruptly, almost knocking his meditation flame off the desk in his preoccupation. He had to control this. They were memories, nothing more. No more than the lingering traces of a meld. Logical. Controllable.

_*I have been violated_*, he realised with sudden astonishment. At the time the choice to offer up his body had been the logical one, the scientific one. He had given no thought to the emotional consequences of giving up his body to such intimate access by another. Perhaps if his body had hosted Sargon, or even Thalassa, it would have been different. Perhaps the thoughts and feelings left behind would have been less like a stain in his mind. He – hated Henoch with a steady, burning hate.

He remembered something McCoy had said when the idea of the transference was proposed. *_It all seems rather indecent to me*. _Perhaps the doctor had been right. McCoy had seen the human cost of the experiment. Spock had seen only scientific wealth. He had never imagined emotional consequences lingering behind. Certainly he had never imagined physical, biological consequences lingering behind. In his sublime selfishness, Henoch had managed to warp two lives.

Selfishness…

The word hung in Spock's mind. Was Henoch the only one guilty of selfishness? Selfish of Christine, perhaps, to take advantage of Spock's borrowed body.

No. No, she would not be able to fight against Henoch's power. The woman that Spock knew would not have thrown aside principles to satisfy transient lust. There was a certain rigid honour that characterised Christine Chapel. She did what was right, often to her own detriment.

Selfish… of himself.

Spock's head dropped minutely. Selfish of himself to think only of scientific advancement, and to offer his body regardless of the consequences. Selfish of himself to walk away from her outside weapons control. Selfish of himself to ignore her emotions and to fall prey to his own. Selfish to believe that he was the wronged party, and she was not.

He was not useful at present. He was not in any fit state to present himself to another being, to discuss anything of import. He reseated himself behind the desk, re-steepled his fingers, and re-entered the dark space of his own mind.


	3. Chapter 3

3.

'Christine, why don't you sit down for a bit?' McCoy asked half-heartedly, not expecting her to listen.

She had been working feverishly from the moment she had returned from weapons control, even as she told the doctor in short, staccato sentences about what had happened down there. McCoy was almost finding it difficult keeping up with her, but she had finally settled on taking an inventory of the supplies in the ward drug cabinet.

The look she turned on him at his words would have sent most people running from the room in fear. Her eyes seemed to have an unnatural blue fire burning somewhere behind the irises. She turned back to the supplies she was sorting, her back set solid with tension.

'You could have my licence, you know,' McCoy continued, almost conversationally. 'Breaking a medical confidence. Not for the protection of the ship, not for anything like that. Just because – I thought my friend should know. I thought you were in danger, and he should know.'

She wheeled round again, some kind of furious retort hovering on her lips – and then she caught herself, and gave a forced, strained smile.

'I don't blame you, Doctor,' she said quietly. 'And I don't want your licence, and you were right to tell him. I just – didn't expect…'

McCoy sighed. He walked over to her and rested a hand on her shoulder.

'Spock's – different. You know that, Christine. He needs time.'

'He needs – something,' she said bitterly, turning back to the cupboard.

'Spock's a good, decent man,' McCoy said firmly, every jibe or criticism he had ever made of Spock fleeing in his desire to defend one friend and reassure another. 'He won't let you down.'

'Won't he?' she asked, turning round to face him, the strain of the last few hours lending a look of exhaustion to her face. 'Are you sure of that, Doctor? Because, however I imagined it would be, I didn't imagine it'd be like this.'

'When I told him you were in danger down in weapons control Spock took precisely fifty-three seconds to make the distance from the bridge to where you were,' McCoy told her firmly. 'The internal sensors told me that. He moved debris that four of the captain's best security men couldn't move together. For _*you_*, Christine. No one else.'

'Not for this – *_thing*_?' she asked darkly, placing her palm over the slight swelling of her abdomen. 'Are you sure it wasn't just for that?'

McCoy took her hand and pressed it between his own.

'That thing is a life,' he said, his doctor's instincts to protect the foetus momentarily overtaking his concern for the nurse.

She made a small noise of dissent, turning her head away briefly. Sometimes it seemed like a life inside her. Sometimes it seemed like nothing more than a parasite, a faceless monster, that was conspiring to eat her life away.

'I know Spock,' McCoy said, fixing his eyes on hers. 'And no, I don't think it was just for that. He's never been indifferent to you. But right now he's shocked and hurt, and probably guilty too. He needs time to process the news. You've had four months. He's had about forty minutes.'

She sighed, sitting down suddenly on a chair nearby.

'I'm sorry,' she said tiredly. 'You know what it's like. Hormones all over the place. I – never expected it to be like this. I never expected to be alone…'

'You're not alone,' McCoy assured her.

She smiled at him through tearful eyes. 'I am though, really…'

The intercom whistled, sounding startlingly loud as it cut into their conversation.

'Damn,' McCoy muttered, striding swiftly over to the unit on the wall. 'I'm sorry, Christine. What is it?' he asked tersely as he pressed the button.

'Bones,' Jim's voice replied with a mixture of curiosity and surprise. 'Bad time?'

McCoy sighed, glancing over at Christine and then back to the intercom. 'No, it's fine, Jim. What did you need?'

'I just wondered how Spock was?' Kirk asked him. 'How soon will his hands heal?'

'His hands?' McCoy echoed. 'I'm sorry, Jim – I'm not getting you.'

Christine looked up suddenly. 'Oh – he injured his hands getting us out of that room,' she said, her voice just a little more enlivened by the reminder of duty. 'He said he'd come down here to have them seen to.'

'Oh, er – ' McCoy began, uncertain as to what to say. Jim would immediately guess that something was wrong if he thought Spock had deliberately avoided medical attention. 'Sorry, Jim. It's been a tough afternoon. I didn't see to Spock's hands. I'll just take a look at the report…'

He looked meaningfully at Christine, then put his hand over the intercom, and asked softly, 'You saw these injuries, didn't you?'

She nodded. 'Just minor lacerations, I think,' she said. 'I didn't get a close look. He should have them seen to, but it didn't seem severe.'

McCoy nodded, then moved his hand from the intercom. 'He'll be fine in a day or two, Jim,' he said. 'I'll check up on him later, and let you know.'

'All right, Bones,' Kirk replied. 'Thank you.'

McCoy came back to Christine. She had gone back to the supplies again, and was focussing her energy on feverishly noting down names and amounts on a datapadd.

'You're not alone,' he repeated, taking the padd out of her hand. 'Come on,' he said, leading her into his office. 'You've done enough for today, after that work down in weapons control. Sit down and I'll fetch you a nice stiff synthahol. I think you need it.'

She laughed suddenly as she settled herself tiredly in the chair he offered her.

'I'd rather have a large whiskey,' she said.

'I'd get you one,' McCoy smiled. 'But then I really would have to strike myself off. Don't they say synthahol tastes just like the real thing?'

'They say that,' she nodded doubtfully. 'But they're wrong. Could I just have a cup of black tea?'

'You remind me of Spock,' McCoy muttered, turning to the replicator, then suddenly caught himself, turning back and saying, 'Sorry, Chris.'

'Oh, I don't mind,' she murmured. 'I still love him, you know. That's the crazy thing. I haven't stopped loving him for a moment, no matter how little he cares for me. And we've come this far, and I still love him, and he still barely notices me.'

McCoy carried the gently steaming cup of dark tea to her and put it down on the desk beside her.

'He does notice you,' he assured her. 'He binds it up in logic and stoicism – but he notices you. I've seen his eyes follow you across a room. I've seen him wake up from unconsciousness and look about, and only relax when he sees _*you're_* the nurse on duty. Give him some time. He'll process everything in that computer brain of his, and see that he's being a bone-headed idiot, and then he'll come. And if he doesn't do that – then you _*can_* have my license, because I'm no judge of human – or Vulcan – nature, and I have no right practising medicine on people I can't understand.'

******

Spock sighed. His thoughts were going nowhere. He lowered his hands, his fingers cramping after being held in the meditation position for so long. How long? What was the time?

He blinked, looking about himself, registering that he had been sitting for two hours trying to reconcile himself to a reality he could barely comprehend. His hands were not just stiff from the meditation. They were sore from the self-tended cuts. His whole body was sore, he realised as he moved. There was a hot stabbing in his side as he moved, and his shoulders were stiff with pain. He sat for a moment analysing the pain. No broken ribs, as far as he could judge. Nothing serious. Just the pain of moving objects far too heavy for him to manage without extraordinary incentive. A reminder of the immutable physicality of his body. A reminder of the incentive that had sent him racing through the corridors of the ship…

He reached out to activate his computer.

'Computer, play – ' He considered for a moment. String music was most calming to his mind, and it was the precise tones of baroque that most easily focussed his thoughts. 'Play Bach, Johann Sebastian. Cello Suite number one in G.'

He leant back in his chair again and closed his eyes as the taut, mellow tones filled the air. He let each note enter his mind, catching it, analysing it, mentally cogitating how it could be reproduced on the Vulcan lyre. But into that analysis kept swimming a face with blue eyes, haloed with golden hair, the look of betrayal and disappointment fixed there as if it were a death mask. The recurring image of him, as Henoch, pressing over her body, fevered with lust. And then there was the bewildering, unknown future, the faceless child…

'Computer, stop music,' he said sharply.

Solitude was not proving beneficial. Who on the ship would understand what was going through his mind? Spock sighed. Jim. Jim would understand. Jim had hosted Sargon's lifeforce, and Jim was his closest friend.

He glanced at the time. The captain's shift would have ended ten minutes ago. He often went to his quarters for a few moments of privacy after a shift, even if he planned on venturing out again later.

Spock found himself standing outside Kirk's door with his hand on the buzzer. The door slid open, and Kirk welcomed him in.

'Spock, how are the hands?' he asked with a smile. 'You've certainly given some fuel to ship gossip, with that little feat.'

Spock looked at him sharply. 'I fail to understand how,' he said tautly.

'Spock, you moved debris that four men couldn't lift,' Kirk laughed. 'People – humans – like to talk about that kind of thing. Why? What else would they be talking about?'

Spock exhaled. 'I do not know. My hands are healing,' he said. 'I anticipate being quite fit for duty tomorrow morning.'

'What brings you here, Spock?' Kirk asked curiously, gesturing him further into the room and fetching another glass to go with its partner and a bottle of Romulan Ale that was waiting on his desk. 'You look like you've got a cloud hanging over you. Not annoyed at having to leave your shift early, surely? You can't help doctor's orders.'

Spock looked up at him briefly. Obviously Jim thought he had received medical attention, and been ordered not to return to duty. Perhaps McCoy was being unusually discreet.

'Thank you,' he said as Jim handed him a glass of pale blue liquid. Ordinarily he might have refused, but the alcohol was quite welcome at that moment. 'No, Jim. I am not annoyed at missing the end of my shift. But I – I wished to talk to you.'

'Sit down, Spock,' Kirk urged him, registering Spock's unusual reticence. The last time he had seen Spock like this he had been suffering the onset of pon farr. He took a seat behind the desk as Spock sat opposite. 'What's wrong? It's obvious there's something wrong.'

Spock closed his eyes momentarily, taking a sip of the ale and letting it spread down his throat in a burning wave. He sat in silence as seconds ticked away, trying to muster a logical opening to this difficult topic.

'Captain, you recall the events of four months ago,' he began, rotating his glass between his fingers and staring intently at the transparent liquid.

'Four months ago,' Kirk mused. 'There was – John Gill and Ekos, wasn't there? The Nazi problem…'

'That was three point seven two months ago,' Spock said almost without thinking. 'Four months ago we encountered – '

'Sargon!' Kirk said quickly, slapping a hand down on the desk. 'Sargon, Henoch and Thalassa – that was it, wasn't it? That was an odd few days…'

'Yes,' Spock murmured. He cleared his throat, and said in a stronger voice, 'Yes, it was a – unique experience, Captain.'

'Lingers on in the mind, too,' Kirk nodded. 'Have you been having strange dreams as well, Spock? I keep – I don't know – having these dreams where I _*am_* Sargon. Not even Sargon in my body, but Sargon here, on this ship, with his own corporeal form…'

'There is an explanation for that, Captain,' Spock said, almost relieved by the opportunity to stall a little longer. 'Sargon's memories impressed on the engrams of your own brain…'

'You mean – I really am remembering what happened when Sargon was in my body?' Kirk asked in astonishment, a brief shudder running through him. It was a little like possessing the memories of a ghost

'Perhaps,' Spock nodded. 'It is likely that Sargon would visualise himself looking as he once did, rather than looking like his host body. It may explain your experience. I – have a more disciplined mind,' he continued in a distracted tone. 'Henoch would more likely see himself precisely as he was at that moment. As myself…'

'Then you *_have*_ been having these dreams?' Kirk asked, intrigued. 'Fascinating, wouldn't you say, Mr Spock?'

Spock raised an eyebrow. 'That is one term for it.'

'What is it, Spock?' Kirk asked, recognising the Vulcan's emotionally ruffled expression.

'Have you wondered, Jim, about the use Sargon made of your body?' he asked carefully. 'Obviously he was carrying out his plan to construct android hosts – but when he was off duty, so to speak…'

'Well, as far as I could make out he wasn't up to doing much, with Henoch sabotaging the treatment,' Kirk pointed out. 'He spent a lot of time in sick bay, I think…'

'Yes, of course,' Spock nodded. 'But in my body, Henoch was not unwell,' he continued. 'He was far from it.'

'And – you think he did something, off duty?' Kirk asked curiously, reading the intention behind Spock's awkward, stalling conversation.

Spock bowed his head, his hands tightening on his glass. The pale blue liquid seemed to quiver with the intensity of his grip.

'Well, whatever Henoch did, Spock, it couldn't be that bad,' Jim said with a smile. 'I mean, it's not like he killed anyone, or assaulted them, or got someone pregnant.'

Spock started at those last few words, his grip tightening again until his knuckles were white. Kirk stared at him, concern suddenly building in his mind. Spock suddenly seemed to realise what his hands were doing, and he put the glass down on the table, clenching his hands in his lap, instead.

'Did – Henoch get someone pregnant?' Kirk asked carefully. 'Spock, Dr Mulhall – '

Ann Mulhall had requested a transfer off the ship not long after those strange events, despite her admirable performance during that time. Kirk thought she seemed perfect starship material and regretted her departure – but he had agreed to the transfer, assuming she simply found it awkward serving under a captain that she had, in some way, been intimate with. If she had been having the same dreams that he and Spock had he was not surprised.

'Not Dr Mulhall,' Spock said, shaking his head, his eyes fixed firmly on the glass of ale on the desk before him. 'I cannot break the lady's confidence, Captain. But – yes, Henoch did use my body to – '

He broke off, unable to verbalise the events even in front of his friend.

'Spock – ' Kirk began. He was astounded, but he knew such a reaction wouldn't help the Vulcan, so he tried to suppress it as far as possible. 'Spock, whatever Henoch did, it wasn't your fault.'

Spock met his eyes. 'Are you certain of that, Captain? Are you certain that Henoch did not prey upon certain of my personal circumstances, or was not influenced in some way by my own natural inclinations?'

'Spock, it wasn't your fault any more than if someone stole your ship and used it to commit piracy,' Kirk protested quickly. 'In case you've forgotten, you, your soul, whatever you want to call it, was residing in a nondescript ball in sickbay. You can't be held responsible for anything Henoch did while he had control of your body.'

'I did give him the keys, so to speak,' Spock said in a low voice.

'In good faith. You didn't expect this,' Kirk said firmly. 'You didn't expect anything of the sort. Besides, I'm the captain of this ship. I gave the go-ahead. Anything that happened, if it's anyone's responsibility, it's mine.

Spock shook his head. 'The child – will be _*mine_*,' he said heavily.

'She – intends to go ahead with it?' Kirk asked carefully. He had no idea what the Vulcan viewpoint on abortion was, but he didn't imagine it being favourable.

'This occurred four months ago, Jim,' Spock said, something almost like laughter edging his voice. 'It is rather late for second thoughts.' He shook his head tiredly. 'I have barely exchanged words on the subject with her. Before today I was in complete ignorance of this.'

'Spock, _*who is it_*?' Kirk asked unable to restrain his curiosity. There seemed to be something even deeper than the distress he would expect of Spock in such a situation.

Spock shook his head resolutely. 'Jim, I _*cannot_*. Please don't ask me.'

Kirk gazed at him in silence. Spock's face seemed lined with tiredness and tension. What was it he was here for precisely, he wondered. Reassurance? Absolution? Advice? He wanted to give him all of those things, but he wasn't sure what to say. How did one give emotional solace to a Vulcan?

'Spock, whatever happens, whatever you, or she, decides to do, I'll stand behind you,' he said firmly. 'You're not alone in this.'

Spock looked up, an expression of gratitude warming his eyes.

'Thank you, Jim,' he said simply.

He lifted his glass again, taking another sip of the strong spirit and letting it burn into his stomach.

'Spock, whoever looked at your hands before, they didn't do a very good job,' Kirk said as the Vulcan replaced the glass on the desk. 'You're bleeding.'

He couldn't help but be glad of an excuse to steer the subject away from this seemingly insoluble problem. He could see a thin smear of green on the clear glass, sponged onto it through the bandages on Spock's right hand.

Spock turned his hand palm upwards, staring as if momentarily baffled at the seeping green blood that was coming through the white bandage. He must have provoked the bleeding by clenching his hand on the glass.

'It's nothing,' he said quickly, closing his fist.

'Spock, you walked in here as if you hurt in fifteen different places,' Kirk told him firmly, 'and now your hands are bleeding. You need to go back to sickbay and get yourself checked out.'

'Really, it's not necessary to attend the sickbay,' Spock protested. 'I will be quite recovered by morning.'

'Spock,' Kirk began, a light suddenly dawning in his mind. '_*Why_*, precisely, don't you want to go to sickbay?'

'It is not necessary,' Spock repeated. 'It would be a waste of Dr McCoy's time.'

'Spock, Henoch kept Nurse Chapel very close during those days, didn't he?' Kirk continued curiously. 'On the bridge at the end, she was almost his first lieutenant, wouldn't you say? He had her completely under his thumb.'

Spock's face had grown white, and his hands were clenched into fists on the desk.

'McCoy asked for a reduction in her hours recently,' Kirk persevered. 'He wouldn't explain why. He said it was an ongoing medical issue…'

Spock closed his eyes, looking almost as if he was praying for divine intervention.

'Spock, is Nurse Chapel pregnant with your child?' Kirk asked directly, refusing to move his gaze from Spock's face.

Spock drained his glass, and then nodded silently.

'Henoch – took advantage – of my mental abilities, of her attraction to me…'

'And – of your attraction to her?' Kirk hazarded with great caution. When Spock remained silent he said softly, 'Spock, you're my closest friend, and I hope you give me the same privilege. If you can't talk about this with me, who can you talk to?'

Spock exhaled with something like a nascent laugh, and nodded slowly. 'That is, in essence, what sent me to your door,' he said.

Kirk smiled, reaching out silently to refill Spock's almost empty glass. Again, Spock did not demure, but instead immediately took a sip of the strong liqueur.

'I'm glad you see me in that way,' Kirk said, quietly. 'But, Spock, if you want to count a person as your close friend, you have to back that up with your actions. You have to _*share_* something – burden me as much as I burden you. That's part of what friendship is about.'

The Vulcan nodded slowly.

'I know,' he said. 'Perhaps human friendship is not my forte. Jim, I have never been certain of how I feel about Miss Chapel. I – notice her, it is true. She has many attractive qualities. She is intelligent, aesthetically pleasing, and of a remarkably rational temperament. She stands out against the mundane backdrop of the other female crew on board.'

'Well, from a human standpoint, I'd say you were attracted to her,' Kirk said seriously, trying his best not to smile at Spock's very Vulcan description of a very human woman.

Spock clasped his hands together, leaning back in his chair.

'Perhaps,' he said. 'Jim, in Vulcan society, on the rare occasion where pregnancy occurs outside of a bonded relationship, the parents of the child almost always immediately enter such a relationship, provided they are not already involved with another person.'

'Yes, it used to be like that on Earth, too,' Kirk nodded. 'Thankfully those days are long gone.'

'Vulcans find it – easier – to establish such relationships on a foundation of logic,' Spock said. 'Although it is not the ideal. But I am, according to the laws of my people, obliged to offer Miss Chapel a bonded relationship. Jim, how can I tell if that established societal norm is interfering with my perceptions? I had given no serious thought to the idea of a relationship before I knew of the pregnancy. It had never seemed advantageous in logic.'

Kirk laughed softly. 'I'm not used to approaching relationships from the angle of whether or not they're advantageous in logic. It's usually more a matter of – mutual attraction and opportunity.'

Spock raised an eyebrow. Jim certainly seemed to find plenty of opportunity for relationships, considering the demands of his job and the fact that he spent most of his time within a pool of only four hundred and thirty people, less than half of whom were female.

'Yes, I have noticed that humans enter relationships with considerably more ease – and go through them with considerably more turmoil than do Vulcans,' he said pointedly.

'Spock, do you feel obliged to offer Miss Chapel a relationship?' Kirk asked curiously.

Spock tilted his head to one side, pondering the question.

'It is what is expected of me,' he said.

'On Vulcan, to a Vulcan woman. You're not on Vulcan, Spock,' Kirk reminded him. 'Have you considered just offering her support, in a purely platonic way?'

'It – is possible,' Spock nodded.

'But you don't want to?'

Spock shook his head. 'Therein lies my difficulty. I simply – do not know. And if I were to offer her more, would she feel as obliged to accept me as I do to offer? And how could I offer a human woman an – emotionally satisfying relationship?'

'Your father seems to manage,' Kirk pointed out. 'Spock, you seem to forget that she's always known you as a Vulcan – she's always loved you as a Vulcan. She doesn't expect you to suddenly become human, and she probably wouldn't want you to. She has no more interest in any of the other men on board than you do in the other women.'

'Perhaps,' Spock said sombrely, draining the last of the drink from his glass.

Kirk took the cue, putting the bottle back on the shelf behind him and getting to his feet. He smiled briefly as he looked down at his first officer. Spock was strong, confident, and supremely capable. He was also vulnerable, and in some ways incredibly innocent. He never seemed fitted for plunging into a world of human emotion.

'Let me give you some advice,' he said, moving around the desk as he spoke. 'Don't rush into anything. Don't put any pressure on yourself – or on her. You're not on a time limit here. Whether that child's born to a secure couple or two separate, loving parents, the most important thing is that you're both there for it. Go to the sickbay,' he told Spock gently, putting a hand on his arm as the Vulcan got to his feet. If he didn't steer Spock in the right direction he wasn't sure that his friend would stop theorising and actually address the problem. 'Get those injuries treated – that part's an order. And _*talk_* to her. That's just a suggestion from a friend, but I hope you'll take it.'

Spock looked at him briefly and nodded, a mixture of gratitude and reluctance in his eyes.

'I'll be asking McCoy for a report on your condition later,' Kirk said firmly. 'A _*real_* one this time – so I'll know if you've been down there or not.'

'I will go,' Spock promised. He was not sure at that point whether he would have the composure to talk to the nurse, and whether or not she would be willing to listen – but he had no choice but to obey his captain's order about seeking treatment. He would end up in the sickbay, one way or another.


	4. Chapter 4

4.

Three cups of black tea and a lot of random conversation later, and McCoy had cajoled Christine into a more optimistic mood. Of course, she would need that friendship, he realised. It was very easy to treat any medical concerns she had, and then dismiss her at the end of the day and not speak to her until morning. But more than the best medical attention and advice she would need friendship and support during a time which, he had to admit, would terrify him if he was going through it himself. And he _*had_* gone through it in some way. He had experienced a terrifying nine months of expectation when his wife was pregnant. He had felt the joy learning to love an anonymous, incapable creature that grew into his own daughter. He had felt the wrench of a Starfleet career that separated him from her over millions of miles of empty space. He did not regret for an instant the void between him and his ex-wife, but it was hard being so far from his own grown child. Despite his experiences, he could not imagine for an instant being able to go through the process of pregnancy and birth without a partner at his side, with a child that showed every sign of being more Vulcan than human. Just for a moment he felt furious at Spock for his human, scared reaction. Spock should be the one reassuring and supporting Christine, not him.

'Doctor?' Christine asked him, breaking into his thoughts. Her hands were still cupped round the warmth of her last cup of tea, but the mug was empty.

'Oh – sorry, Chris,' he said quickly, forcing a smile. He had not done this much work just to bring her down again with his own thoughts. 'I was just thinking – I wouldn't be very responsible if I gave you any more tea. How about a nice herbal cup this time?'

She made a face. 'I don't put 'nice' and 'herbal' in the same category. Besides, no one worries about caffeine during pregnancy any more.'

'Call me old fashioned if you like, but _*I_* worry about introducing large quantities of *_any*_ drug during pregnancy,' McCoy said firmly. 'Especially in a delicate, interspecies pregnancy. Who knows how caffeine affects Vulcans?'

'_*We_* do,' she reminded him. 'We live with a Vulcan, remember? And it affects them less than humans. But it doesn't matter. Caffeine aside, my bladder won't take much more liquid.'

'Well, in that case,' McCoy said, taking the cup from her hand and putting it aside. 'Relaxed mood and full bladder – this seems the perfect time for a scan. What is it? Sixteen weeks now?'

'Going on seventeen,' she corrected him.

'Well, then, why don't we take a look in on junior and see how he's getting on? I've been wanting to check on his copper levels to see if your supplements are doing their job.'

'All right, Doctor,' Christine said with a smile, getting up and going with him to the examination room. These checks always seemed to ground her – to remind her of the reality of this tiny life developing within her and push away what suddenly seemed like more trivial concerns.

'You get up on the couch, and I'll get the scanner,' McCoy said, turning to the cupboard at the side of the room. The sickbay wasn't set up for obstetrics, but the portable imager did just as well for scans like these as it did to show an image of a patient's heart or lungs or other vulnerable organs.

'I'll bet you'll find a lot's changed in the last few weeks,' he continued as he came back to her side.

'I'm sure,' she smiled, resting back on the couch and relaxing.

Christine had been studying the texts on Vulcan-human pregnancy intently for the last few months, and she knew that McCoy had too – but it was never quite possible to forget that Child X in all the literature, and Parent V and Parent H, were almost certainly Spock and his parents. It made the reading all the more relevant, but it was also far more difficult to accept the documented difficulties and dangers of the pregnancy with a professional detachment.

'Let's have a look,' McCoy murmured, touching the scanner to the blue fabric of her uniform dress over her abdomen. The screen beside the bed blinked into life, displaying an almost perfect image of a developing foetus, curled as if in serene sleep and floating in a warm red darkness. The veins that lined the translucent skin were undeniably green.

'Look at that!' Christine said in wonderment as McCoy moved the scanner to show more of the profile. 'Perfect little Vulcan ears! Oh, and the line of the eyebrows – look – just beginning to have definition! I'm going to have a proper little Vulcan!'

'The Vulcan genome is dominant,' said a deep voice from the door.

Spock was staring, transfixed, at the image on the screen. He had spoken automatically, giving his scientific point of view despite his emotional preoccupation.

'Mr Spock!' Christine said in surprise, caught between joy at his presence and embarrassment at his intrusion.

Spock seemed to shake himself out of his distraction at her voice. He looked from her, to McCoy, and back again, looking very much like a startled animal – and then he abruptly turned around and walked out of the room.

'Spock!' McCoy snapped. He turned to Christine, saying firmly, '_*Stay there_*,' then followed Spock out of the room.

The Vulcan was standing by the door into the corridor, one hand braced on the doorframe, breathing deeply as if trying to control some unwanted reaction.

'Spock,' McCoy said quietly, coming up behind him and putting a hand on his arm. He could see that the Vulcan needed the tactful approach at the moment. 'Come back in there. You know it's the best thing to do, don't you?'

He carefully avoided using the word _*logical_* for fear of the Vulcan thinking he was digging at him. Spock stared at him, seemingly unable to speak.

'Why did you come down here, Spock?' the doctor asked curiously.

'Oh…' Having an intention to state seemed to help Spock to focus. 'I – came for a medical consultation, Doctor. My hands, and perhaps some torn muscles. I – also came to – ' He glanced towards the door to the treatment room, then cleared his throat. 'I need to speak to Miss Chapel. Doctor, that was – '

'That was your baby,' McCoy nodded, unable to repress the broad grin that spread over his face.

'A boy,' Spock said. It was not a question. Obviously he had taken in every detail of the scan.

'Yes, it's a boy,' McCoy said, putting a hand to Spock's arm. 'Come on. Come back inside and take a look. I don't think Christine will mind.'

Spock seemed rooted to the spot.

'It – appears to favour Vulcan characteristics.'

'Well, like you said, Spock – the Vulcan genome is dominant. You certainly display more of your father's Vulcan genes than your mother's human ones. This baby has blood that's ninety percent copper-based, Vulcan organ placement, Vulcan facial features. His brain shows almost exclusively Vulcan features, and he's likely to have similar telepathic skills to yours. His lungs will maybe be a mite less efficient than yours in thin air, if he continues to develop as he is, but still more efficient than a human's. He carries Christine's genetics, and your human genetics too, but it's the Vulcan ones that are manifesting themselves.'

Spock nodded numbly.

'Come on, Spock,' the doctor said more firmly, realising that the Vulcan would need something more than gentle persuasion to get him to enter the room. 'Either you come in there now and talk to her, or you risk the mother of your child thinking you're a complete bastard for the rest of your life. What would you rather?'

Spock looked at McCoy sharply, seeming to snap suddenly out of his numbness at McCoy's words. He appeared to have grown two inches taller.

'I have every intention of honourable conduct towards Miss Chapel,' he said in a steely tone.

'She doesn't want _*honourable conduct_*, Spock,' McCoy said acerbically, unfazed by the Vulcan's tone. 'She hasn't stepped out of a Victorian novel. She wants support, and just perhaps someone who _*cares_* about her.'

Spock looked directly at McCoy. For a moment the doctor seemed to see through the hard, logical glaze of his eyes into something deeper, and perhaps more human.

'I do not intend to let her down,' Spock said in a quiet, firm voice. 'But any arrangement will be worked out between Miss Chapel and myself – without outside interference.'

McCoy looked at him for a moment, then, much to Spock's surprise, smiled warmly.

'That's just as it should be, Spock. Come on.' He tugged lightly at his arm, and finally the Vulcan moved. 'Christine,' he said quickly as they came into the room. She showed every sign of being about to get down off the couch and leave the room. 'Do you mind Mr Spock being here?'

She looked at him for a brief moment, not meeting his eyes, but just letting her gaze run suspiciously over him.

'Doctor,' Spock said in his low baritone before she could speak.

She shivered momentarily, his voice reminding her simultaneously of both Spock, and Henoch.

'Would you leave us a for few moments?' Spock asked. 'I would like to speak to Miss Chapel in private.'

McCoy hesitated, looking briefly at Christine to be certain she was happy for that to happen. He had heard very few details of what had happened with Henoch from Christine. He had never placed any accusation of rape on Spock in his mind – Spock could barely be held responsible for what Henoch had done – but he couldn't be quite sure whether he was dealing with an event that had been consensual or not.

Christine gave him a small smile, and nodded. 'Please, Doctor,' she said. 'I'll be fine.'

Spock stood rigidly, hands locked behind his back, until the doctor had left the room. Christine watched him, feeling inexplicably wary. As Henoch he had reminded her of a warmed cat, relaxed and easy of movement. He had been emotionally accessible, open and generous of feeling. As Spock he seemed to be wrapped in a carapace of stiffness, cold, and divorced from what others may feel. Henoch had been so easy to penetrate – but she had not liked what she had found below the surface. Spock, she knew from experience, had depths and layers of warmth, generosity, loyalty and caring. He had the ability to burn with passion or rage, to be kindled with fires of fascination, and even obsession, on a myriad different subjects. He could play music that would elicit a whole gamut of emotions from his listeners, whether or not he experienced the emotions he was eliciting. She suspected that he did, not matter what he might protest to the contrary. He offered so much once the first layers of defence were peeled away. But right now that Vulcan carapace was shut tight over all of those many varied depths, defending him rigidly against whatever emotional attack the situation might bring him.

When his stillness continued even after the door had closed she said tentatively, 'Mr Spock? You wanted to talk to me – but – you're not talking…'

'Yes.' Spock removed his gaze from the wall, and turned slowly to face her.

She began to sit up. It felt odd to be lying in her so-brief dress in front of him, despite what had happened between them. The more she saw him the more she realised it truly had happened between her and Henoch, not her and Spock. He reached out a hand as if to help her sit, but she was upright before he could reach her, and she could see the relief in him that he had not had to touch her.

'Miss Chapel – ' he began.

'_*Christine_*,' she urged him. 'After all this, surely it can be Christine?'

Spock raised an eyebrow, a spark of warmth entering his countenance. 'Yet to you I am _*Mr_* Spock,' he reminded her.

She smiled briefly. 'You – seem to demand formality, Spock,' she said, dropping the *_Mr*_ with some difficulty.

Spock inclined his head in agreement. 'Perhaps that is true,' he said, taking a step closer. 'But the time for formality between us seems to have passed.'

He let his eyes linger on her, assessing the lineaments of her face. She was pleasing. Her face was attractive, her body was attractive. She was strong and capable, but there was still a supreme grace about her. But there was something more – something about the expression in her eyes that drew him more than the physicality of her body. She looked tired, and she looked preoccupied, but there was something in there that he desired to know better. He did not want, and did not intend, to hurt her.

'Christine, I am sorry,' he said softly. 'My conduct earlier was reprehensible. It is – hardly Vulcan to turn and run from a problem.'

She shook her head with an apologetic smile. 'I should have told you sooner. I really should. I just had no idea how – '

'I can understand,' Spock said truthfully. 'I – think there will need to be many words exchanged before we are both fully reconciled to the situation. It is quite unique, I would imagine.'

She gave a small laugh. 'I hope so. I really do.'

'Do you accept my apology?' he asked, with such a look on entreaty on his face that she would have forgiven him anything.

'Of course I do!' she said, reaching out a hand to him by instinct. 'Do you accept mine?'

He took half a step closer to her, then seemed to recall something, and stopped moving again, clasping his hands behind his back.

'It was never necessary for you to apologise,' he said.

Her brow furrowed in puzzlement. His entire attitude was one of contrite repentance, and yet still he held himself back from her, as if he was afraid she would burn him if he came too close.

'Mr Spock, why won't you touch me?' she asked.

Spock sighed. 'I thought you might accept my behaviour as a normal Vulcan response,' he said.

'But it isn't. You've touched me before.'

A flash of his finger trailing up her cheek in his quarters, wiping away a tear. Clasping his hands between hers as she confessed her love for him. His feelings flooding into her mind, and then ruthlessly being tugged back again. Times of emotional instability, for both of them... Suddenly she wondered, was that her memory, or his? She couldn't be sure.

'You see, don't you?' Spock said, reading the expression on her face.

'There's – some kind of connection,' she hazarded. 'Something between our minds.'

'Henoch – mated with you,' he said. 'But he used _*my_* body. *_My*_ mind. There is, invariably, some linking of minds when a Vulcan engages in such an act. And then my consciousness was placed in your body. I had no idea at that time of what had happened – I tried to distance myself from your thoughts, and I suspect you tried to conceal the memory. It is – difficult to separate fantasy from true memory in a human's mind. And now you carry a child within you with its own telepathic ability – an ability that is necessarily linked both to me, and to you. If I touch you – '

He trailed off, seemingly unable to voice his concerns.

'If you touch me,' she prompted him.

Spock exhaled. 'Whatever has passed between us, I am still a private individual. I – do not care to share all that is within my mind without – the proper preparation. If I was to touch you – '

'I'll know what you're thinking,' she continued for him. 'I'll know just how you're scared, and why, and what all of this means to you…'

Spock shook his head. 'Astute – but I am uncertain if *_I*_ know what all of this means to me. I do not want to expose what amounts to a wilderness of chaos. I do not want to expose myself to the chaos that I imagine must exist within your own mind.'

'I've had longer to get used to this, remember,' she said with a smile. 'There's not so much chaos any more. I'm scared sometimes, and uncertain, but I'm growing more used to the idea.'

Spock glanced over at the door. He was growing increasingly uncomfortable at having this conversation in the sickbay examination room.

'Christine, may I come to your quarters later?' he asked. 'This is hardly the best forum for discussing this. The doctor is waiting outside.'

'Oh, of course,' she said quickly, in some ways relieved at the short reprieve from what promised to be a difficult discussion. 'Although I have to warn you, I'm finding myself falling asleep in my chair by about half past eight at the moment.'

Spock nodded. 'My mother has told me that the demands of a Vulcan foetus are not easy for a human body to bear. Would it be acceptable if I accompanied you back to your room when you are finished here?'

'As long as you stay to get treated yourself, first,' she said, eyeing his awkward stance with a critical gaze. 'I'm guessing your back and arms hurt like hell?'

'Colloquially put,' Spock nodded, 'but accurate. Shall I call McCoy in now?'

******

McCoy came back into the room warily, eyeing both Spock and Christine's faces for signs of stress. They both seemed remarkably relaxed though, and Christine lay back on the couch without him asking as he picked up the scanner again, looking far less self-conscious than she had before.

'You two – all right?' he asked cautiously.

Spock glanced at Christine, then back at the doctor.

'Quite fine, Doctor. Will you proceed?'

McCoy looked at Spock warily again. It was hard to know just how to act in this situation. He had never, in all of his time on this ship, expected to be performing an antenatal check on a human crewmember who was bearing Spock's child – least of all on a crewmember who happened to be his head nurse and close friend.

'Okay,' he said slowly. 'Christine, you know the process by now. Just lie still, relax, and let – '

'Doctor, you are prevaricating,' Spock said. His eyes were already fixed on the screen despite the fact that there was nothing on it as yet.

'All right,' McCoy nodded, meeting Christine's eyes, and smiling reassuringly. He wasn't certain whether he needed to reassure her, or whether he needed reassurance himself. This whole situation was just downright odd. 'Here you go,' he murmured.

The image flickered into life again. The still, drifting, dreaming foetus, curled around itself with one hand held up to its mouth, its thumb touching the developing lips. The translucent skin, veins running through it like paths laid down for an unconscious purpose. The fluttering movement at the side of the chest where the Vulcan heart beat with rapid, urgent determination. Eyes that were spherical and impossibly large, blind behind diaphanous eyelids.

Spock had moved a step closer to the screen, a step closer to the bed where Christine lay, without realising it. His lips were parted slightly as he stared at the image in rapt fascination.

'Genetics predict dark hair – not surprising since both of you are naturally dark,' McCoy was saying. 'Brown eyes, projected adult height around six foot three, six foot four, hale of limb and healthy of body. You've made yourself a perfect Vulcan, Spock.'

'I – did not do this,' Spock said slowly.

McCoy groaned, rubbing a hand over his face. 'I thought you'd got over the shock a little by now,' he began. 'Spock, you – '

'Doctor, you misunderstand me,' Spock said impatiently, still staring at the screen. 'I fully accept genetic responsibility for the life before me. But I cannot take credit for it. It - *_he*_ – is his own being, quite unique. He – will be a person…'

McCoy smiled, meeting Christine's eyes and catching her own smile as it flashed over her face. Spock was standing so close to her now that he was almost touching her, his hand resting on the couch just by her head. Spock had evidently just realised what the doctor had seen Christine realise the first time he had scanned her – that it was not just an organised collection of cells growing inside her, but a life, unique and irreplaceable.

McCoy continued to scan, recognising that Spock needed no acknowledgement of his sudden realisation. The statement had been perilously close to emotional.

'One good thing, Spock,' McCoy said, his eyes moving over the results. 'His blood type is T negative, like yours, so if he needs any transfusions during gestation he'll be all right.'

'And his human blood type?' Spock asked curiously.

'O. The most common type. Same as Christine's and same as the human elements in your blood. The copper levels are just fine, Christine,' he added. 'It looks like the supplements are doing their job.'

'My mother found _*hav'la_* both appetising and beneficial during pregnancy,' Spock put in, his eyes still fixed on the screen. 'The copper in it transfers excellently to the foetus. I will programme it into the replicator.'

'_*Hav'la_*?' McCoy asked suspiciously.

Spock shook his head. 'Simply a vegetable dish rich in copper, Doctor. It's quite popular on Vulcan.'

'I don't know if I want anything messing up the balance we've got, Spock,' McCoy said doubtfully. 'I've worked it out to the microgram…'

'It cannot hurt to introduce a certain amount of Vulcan cuisine at this point,' Spock insisted. 'I am correct in thinking that the foetus tastes the mother's diet in the amniotic fluid?'

'You are, but – '

'_*I'll_* decide whether or not to eat _*hav'la_*,' Christine said firmly, cutting through their argument. 'Leonard, I might like it, and Mr Spock, if I don't like it you won't catch me eating it through a sense of martyrdom.'

Spock started, realising suddenly that his fingers, as he leant his hand on the table, were caught up in the golden strands of her hair. He stepped back instantly, clasping his hands behind his back again, barely suppressing a wince as his muscles protested.

'All right,' Christine said authoritatively, deciding to roll with the tone of command she had managed with the two superior officers. 'Dr McCoy, you've got all the readings you need from the scan, as far as I can see. Mr Spock, your injuries need seeing to. I understand that you don't want me to treat them at the moment, so since my shift finished about six minutes ago, I'm going to go to my quarters. I will see you there when you're finished – sir,' she added quickly, suddenly becoming conscious of the inappropriateness of her tone.

Spock looked at her, his eyes holding hers for a moment, showing a glinting appreciation for her tone of voice despite the fact that he should reprimand her for using it with him. He nodded his head, once.

'I will see you there, Miss Chapel. Doctor, shall we do as the lady suggests?'

'Well, I can see who's in charge in this sickbay,' McCoy began to grumble. 'Let me see,' he said, turning his scanner on Spock as Christine left the room. 'Muscle strain in your arms and back, a couple of small tears here, and here,' he said, pointing to the specific locations high up on Spock's back. 'And those cuts on your hands, of course. You certainly did a good job on yourself, Spock.'

Spock raised an eyebrow. 'I was concerned with aiding the trapped crewmen, not my own physical capabilities.'

'Yeah, right,' McCoy murmured, running a healing beam over the first of the muscle tears. 'That's why, by all accounts, you completely ignored everyone in there and took Christine off down the corridor for a little _tête-à-tête._'

Spock shifted uncomfortably. It was no wonder he had never pursued any personal relationships while on board ship. The reaction from McCoy would be quite unbearable.

For a moment the shock of it all rolled over him again. How had he gone from a quite ordinary, if eventful, day on the bridge to standing in sickbay staring at the image of a four-month old foetus that belonged, genetically, to him?

'It does not matter, Doctor,' he said, shaking his head. 'Really, it does not matter.'

McCoy's own eyebrow arched at Spock's evident unwillingness to argue. It was rare that the Vulcan would lay a quarrel such as this aside. It was a sport that they both enjoyed.

'Well, here you go, Spock,' he said, turning his attention to Spock's hands and cleaning and treating the cuts there. 'That should be a lot more comfortable. They're sealed and set off on the healing process now. Just don't agitate them, or they might open again. Same goes for the muscles in your back. You're free to go.'

Spock nodded briefly, silently grateful that McCoy had acknowledged his unwillingness for a confrontation, and let the subject drop.

'Oh – I'll send a copy of that scan to your private terminal,' the doctor added as Spock headed for the door.

Spock paused, turning back to meet his eyes. 'Thank you, Doctor,' he said earnestly. 'I will – value it.'

'And Spock,' McCoy said, causing him to halt yet again.

'What is it, McCoy?' Spock asked, a small amount of impatience rising now.

'Just remember, that if you need to, both Jim and I are here to talk to. No hang ups, no teasing. Just – as your friends. Okay?'

Spock nodded, the tension in his shoulders relaxing just perceptibly.

'Okay,' he echoed, the word sounding awkward in his mouth. 'Thank you, Leonard. I will remember.'


	5. Chapter 5

5.

Spock pressed the buzzer at Nurse Chapel's door feeling just a little self-conscious. There were not many people passing in the corridor, but he did not visit this section of crew quarters often, and certainly was rarely found calling at an individual's quarters in his off-duty time. Too many people on the ship knew of the nurse's feelings for him, and more than one gave him a curious look as they passed.

The door slid open, and Christine invited him in with a look that was half pleased, half guilty. She was wearing a long dress, almost ankle-length, of a deep, vibrant red almost the colour of human blood. She had obviously not made an effort to dress up – her feet were bare, her makeup had been removed and her hair was loose and untidy – but the dress itself was stunning, and Spock found that her slightly tired, dishevelled state only seemed to enhance its effect.

'Oh, I didn't wear this on purpose,' she said quickly, noticing his gaze hovering on the dress. 'It's just – it's loose, and comfortable, and my uniform is starting to become just a little too tight…'

'There is maternity clothing available from the uniform department,' Spock pointed out, rigidly keeping his gaze from slipping to the scoop-neck of the dress, where the beginnings of the fabric clung to the contours of her breasts.

She smiled a brief, self-conscious smile. 'Yes, but I don't really want to advertise to ship's stores that I'm pregnant.'

Spock's eyebrow rose minutely, but he said nothing. Instead, he walked over to the computer console and held his hand suspended over the button.

'If you will permit me?' he asked.

'Of course,' she nodded, bemused, but trusting that he wished to do something of import.

Spock turned the computer on and sat in the chair behind the desk in one fluid motion, and as soon as the screen flickered into life he began to input data at a fabulous speed. There was a low hum from the replicator in the corner, and Spock's hands ceased to move. He looked over at the replicator, and nodded toward it.

'That should be satisfactory,' he said.

She went quickly to the replicator, opening the sliding hatch and taking out two neatly folded, slightly warm blue uniforms. She shook them out, seeing that they were almost identical to her regular uniform – just a little more generous about the waist, and very slightly longer in the skirt.

'They look perfect!' she said in astonishment. 'Mr Spock, that replicator's only programmed for food. How on Earth – ?'

Spock's eyebrow rose again. 'I do hold an A-7 computer expert classification, Miss Chapel. The replicator is essentially a small but very sophisticated transporter. Ship's supplies use precisely the same network to create new uniforms and unique outfits as the regular replicators for comestibles. I simply accessed the required programming, selected maternity clothing in your size and for your point of gestation, and transferred the output to your replicator. Stores will not be aware of the transaction – it will be listed in records as two helpings of sausage and mashed potato with onion gravy, since the base elements and amounts are virtually identical. If you require I can request more comfortable uniform boots, and larger sizes at a later date.'

She stated at him in astonishment, then had the presence of mind to ask, 'And you knew my size _*how_*, Mr Spock?'

Spock regarded her emotionlessly. 'Miss Chapel, I can estimate the clothes size of any woman by assessing her figure. It is not difficult.'

'Didn't you agree to call me Christine?' she asked him, partly to change a subject that seemed to be causing Spock to cast an intense gaze at her figure.

'Did you not agree to call me Spock?' Spock countered, rising to allow her to take his seat.

He went to the replicator as she sat, inputting data and returning with a steaming cup.

'Technically, neither of us agreed to anything,' she pointed out. She sniffed at the cup as he held it out to her. 'Mr Spock, how did you know my favourite blend of coffee?'

'I have never observed you to drink coffee in the recreation room and fail to choose this blend,' he said. 'This is decaffeinated, of course.'

'Of course,' she said with a smile. There was something reassuring in this – something pleasing about the fact that he had been observing her closely enough to know both her favourite type of coffee and her dress size even before he had known about the pregnancy. 'Won't you have a drink?'

Spock shook his head briefly, a seriousness coming over his face again.

'Christine, we have a lot to discuss,' he said quietly. 'This situation is – quite unprecedented. It is far beyond the considerations of an ordinary relationship.'

'Then – have you been considering an ordinary relationship?' she asked tentatively.

Spock tilted his head, suddenly looking unusually self-conscious.

'I had not given it serious consideration until now,' he admitted truthfully. 'But I would be lying if I said I had never thought of it. It's just – It is just that, in my situation, a relationship always seemed untenable. I am the First Officer of a starship. I am often placed in physical danger, and my commitment to duty must be a priority. Up until recently I was also bonded to a Vulcan woman, and expected to become her consort. But – ' He took a deep breath, then continued, 'One's priorities – change – in circumstances such as this. Starfleet is not the master of my life. I have been assuming, of course, that you are not averse to a relationship.'

She smiled a small smile. 'I – wouldn't be,' she said carefully, 'but I would have to be certain of your reasons. I am not in a believer of _*staying together for the children_*. It's no way to found a relationship.'

Spock met her eyes, looking unblinkingly at her. 'I cannot pretend that the child has not instigated events. But, if we were to bond, I could not keep such a secret from you. You would _*know_* whether or not I care for you, and how deeply I do.'

'I – can't quite believe I'm saying this,' she said, trying not to let herself be swayed by the idea of another glimpse into that deep, complicated, rich mind, 'but – I think we need time. I think _*you_* need time. You've known about this for less than a day. We've hardly spent time together outside of the line of duty.'

'What do you want from me, Christine?' Spock asked directly. 'How must I proceed?'

'Court me,' she said with a quick, shy smile. 'Get to know me. Decide for yourself whether you want to commit to this. Let _*me_* decide too. I'm not going anywhere. There's no hurry. You don't, I suppose, object to having children out of wedlock.'

Spock raised an eyebrow. 'It is the Vulcan way to ensure an established bond before children are considered, but a legal contract can make no possible difference to the child. There will be no shame or stigma applied.' He nodded slowly. 'You are right, Christine. I have come here, with very little preparation, and proposed a life-long bond to you. To me, the situation is an equation. I have assessed my feelings for you, and found them to be conducive to a relationship. I have always found you attractive, and I have always esteemed you both as an officer and as a person. The fact that you bear my child is a catalyst motivating me to action rather than the instigator of my feelings. But you are quite correct. I would like to – get to know you. We have time.'

'We have all the time in the world, Spock,' she said with a smile.

'Is that true?' Spock asked seriously. 'You have, I suppose, another five months of gestation. Do you plan to remain on the ship for the whole of that time?'

She hesitated, making little circles on the desk with her finger. 'I'd heard that they were going to start introducing allowances for families on Constitution class starships.'

Spock nodded slowly. 'That is true. They have begun the experiment quite successfully on the Lexington, I believe.'

'I don't want to give up my career here,' she said, looking up to meet his eyes. 'And I don't suppose you do either. I – think it's important for this child to have the influence of his father, especially the cultural influence.'

Spock nodded silently. 'I would not be content to be so far and so constantly distant from my own child. It is quite vital that he receives Vulcan training. I could attend to that in the early years myself.'

He stopped as he realised how tired she was looking.

'I think we have discussed enough for this evening,' he said smoothly. 'Christine, would you permit me to stay for dinner?'

'Of course,' she said, a smile brightening her face again. 'Just bear in mind what I said, and don't expect me to stay awake late.'

'I will leave as soon as you request it,' Spock nodded. 'Now – perhaps we should discuss something that relates to neither relationships nor pregnancy. Dr McCoy has told me in the past that you have an interest in Arkavite literature – an interest I share. Have you read The Fall of the Endegon?'

Christine smiled at the Vulcan's oddly self-conscious attempt at social intercourse. It was obvious he was not used to small talk with anyone but a few close friends – but she _*had_* read The Fall of the Endegon, and enjoyed it immensely, and it was wonderful to finally have someone knowledgeable to discuss the book with. Perhaps Spock's methods were not so clumsy after all, she reflected some minutes later. The discussion was intense and stimulating, and she was beginning to forget the awkward situation between them in the joy of talking about a subject divorced from either her job or the ship's current status. Spock had been right – each truly knew the other very little, and the longer she spent in his company the more she learnt to value him as a person rather than as a figure of attraction who moved only on the outskirts of her social circle.

******

Spock left Nurse Chapel's room some hours later, deep in thought. He was troubled, and confused by varying emotions of which he had little experience. He had, he believed, enjoyed himself, once he forced himself to ignore the darker elements of the situation he had been awakened to today. He had found the nurse just as stimulating to speak to as Jim – perhaps even more so. The range and depth of subjects in which she was interested overlapped satisfactorily with his own interests, but she also held knowledge on subjects he knew little about. There seemed to be plenty of scope for a lasting and rewarding friendship, and he was sufficiently attracted to her to warrant a relationship in the fullest sense. He had, he had to admit, experienced a certain degree of sexual arousal at the contemplation of that fresh, enticing body under the deep red dress.

And the child… Was he capable of separating the responsibility he felt for the child from his desire to enter a relationship with the mother? He thought he was. The child was, as he had said, the catalyst, but he thought that even without that promise of new life he was still able to feel a proper degree of attraction towards Christine.

It was, he finally decided, good. There were very few drawbacks to the relationship. It was logical. It was convenient. It would not interfere with his career in the way a bond with a woman resident on Vulcan would. But there was what Henoch had done… Would that always hang between them like a veil?

He found himself, unconsciously, outside Jim's door, and he pressed the buzzer and entered when he was called.

'Spock.' Kirk greeted him with a smile that faded quickly into a look of concern at Spock's look of distraction. 'Are you all right, Spock?'

Spock considered. 'I believe I am, Jim,' he said carefully.

'You've – spoken to her?'

Spock nodded.

'Did you – work anything out?'

'To an extent,' Spock nodded. 'But – we did not discuss Henoch at all. We did not discuss the – rape. She was very tired.'

'Then it was rape,' Kirk began, then shook his head, saying, 'I'm sorry, Spock. You don't want to talk about that, do you?'

Spock sighed. 'I am not – eager to discuss it, with you or her. But, from what I could glean from Henoch's memory, I don't believe it was as – traumatic – as it could have been.'

He sank into silence, his fingers clasped before his face, the outstretched tips of his forefingers just touching his lips. Kirk watched him in silence, sensing that when the Vulcan was ready to speak, he would.

Finally he looked up, and said, 'Jim, how can you tell if you will be content with a person for the rest of your life?'

Kirk smiled, inwardly amused at Spock asking _*him_* about lasting relationships. But he said, 'Just – spend time with her, Spock. Like I said before, don't put any pressure on yourself. If you find yourself getting bored or fed up of her company, then perhaps she's not for you – but you won't find out without spending time with her.'

Spock nodded gravely. Then he said solemnly, 'This may mean I have to forego our scheduled chess games.'

Kirk grinned. 'You never know, Spock. She might be a Grand Master herself. Maybe you should go find out.'

'I think she is sleeping,' Spock said seriously.

Kirk smiled again. 'Well then, maybe we should get a game in now, while we still have the chance?'

******

The next evening found Spock standing outside Nurse Chapel's quarters again, feeling even more self-conscious. Thankfully an amateur dramatics show was being put on in one of the rec rooms on another deck, and the corridors were largely empty. Thus far, he had not been passed by a single crewmember. If he had been, he wasn't sure if he could, or should, conceal the neatly arranged bouquet of roses that he had culled from the ship's botanical lab.

_*Court me_*, Christine had said. Spock had an idea of what human courtship involved. An hour spent searching the library computers had confirmed his ideas. Flowers were almost always well received. Roses were the favoured choice. Red roses, such as he had procured, were the ideal. But he had not just cut stems with red blossoms. Spock had a well developed appreciation of aesthetics, and he had judged that a medley of reds and varying pinks would be more pleasing than an artlessly gathered bunch of one colour. He had arranged the flowers with care, and had to admit that the result was visually pleasant, especially against the glossy and luxuriant green leaves that he had taken care to leave on the stems.

'Oh!' Christine said on opening the door, a surprised smile spreading over her face. 'Mr Spock, they're beautiful!'

Spock proffered the flowers towards her rather awkwardly, asking, 'Then you find the arrangement pleasing?'

'Oh, very,' she said, going quickly across the room and searching for something she could use as a vase. It was not often that one needed to display fresh flowers on a starship.

'Perhaps this,' Spock said, picking up a tall, angular water jug from a shelf nearby.

She turned and nodded, smiling as he went to fill the jug with water and took the flowers from her to arrange in the tall container.

'Mr Spock, are flowers really a part of Vulcan courtship?' she asked him, watching as he arranged the roses with a look of intense concentration.

He stopped, and turned to look at her. 'The foremost version of Vulcan courtship is for two children to form a preliminary bond at the age of seven,' he said plainly. 'We are, I believe, a little late in that respect.'

She took the jug and put it carefully on the shelf near her desk.

'I'm sorry, Mr Spock,' she said softly. 'I didn't mean to sound ungrateful. I just meant – did you bring these because you wanted to, or because you thought it was right?'

'No offence is taken,' Spock said with equanimity. His gaze turned briefly to the flowers, and then back to her. 'I was practising a ritual of traditional human courtship,' he nodded. 'But I also used my own judgement. I believed that you would like roses.'

'I do,' she said with feeling. 'I like them very much. I like them better for the fact that you thought I would like them, rather than just thinking it was correct for me to have them.'

Spock's eyebrow rose a small amount. 'Human women,' he said, 'are incomprehensible.'

She smiled again. 'Well, I'm open for study, Mr Spock. Would you like to sit down?'

Spock nodded. He seated himself in the chair she indicated – an old and well-worn wingbacked chair upholstered in dark blue velvet. He sat with some trepidation. He could imagine the chair falling apart with the wrong force exerted.

'Oh, don't worry,' Christine told him, noticing his concern. 'That thing's been around for over three hundred years. It may look fragile, but it's steady as a rock.'

Spock touched the arm of the chair in appreciation. One of the wooden chairs in his quarters was of a similar age. Curious that Christine would also have an old and somewhat sentimentally chosen item of furniture in her quarters.

He looked up at her, meeting her eyes steadily. 'I believe that the giving of flowers in human culture can also accompany an apology,' he said carefully.

'Oh, but you have nothing to apologise for!' she said quickly, sitting down near him. Spock could not help but notice that in the action of sitting she had more completely concealed her expression from his than was necessary.

'I am certain that my behaviour when you informed me of the pregnancy demands an apology,' he pointed out.

'Perhaps,' she nodded. 'But you already apologised for that.'

'There is also Henoch…' Spock said hesitantly.

'Well, I certainly don't expect an apology for that,' she said firmly. 'What Henoch did had nothing to do with you.'

Spock's eyebrow rose. 'In some ways, it had _*everything_* to do with me,' he said gravely, his eyes falling on her abdomen. 'We need to discuss him,' he said plainly, pushing his reluctance aside. 'His actions will always be an impediment between us, unless we can resolve our views of his actions.'

'You – know what he did, then,' she said cautiously, half as a question, her eyes lowered.

'With meditation I can recall a certain amount,' Spock nodded. 'Those things that impressed themselves strongly on his – on my – mind. Those things that I know to look for in my meditation. But I cannot know everything he did. There are certain evidences of how he used his borrowed body. I know he ordered meat-based meals almost every time he used a replicator, for example. I know he drank rather too much alcohol on occasion. I know a certain amount of what he did with you. I cannot know – if there were others.'

'Oh, I don't think there were others,' she said quickly. 'In fact, I'm certain of it. He barely associated with the rest of the crew. And he spent so much time with me…'

'Yes,' Spock murmured, his head dropping. 'Christine – ' He looked up, his eyes veiled with his reluctance to speak. 'Christine, he – forced you, did he not? In fact, he raped you?'

She looked away briefly, then forced herself to meet his gaze again.

'He – ' She hesitated, then said, 'Technically, yes, he did. But – I don't know… It was your body, at least. I would trust you with my life, Mr Spock. Even if I didn't feel about you the way that I do, I would still trust you with my life. And I did, at least, desire you. And Henoch – ' She shook her head. 'I don't suppose this should make it better. It should make it worse, but somehow it doesn't. Henoch – was in my mind. Not reading it, I mean, but just there, like a hand behind my back, steering me the way he wanted me to go. Always suggesting… Whispering what he wanted. I could barely tell the difference between what he wanted and what I wanted. He wanted me. Therefore I wanted him. It was the response he needed me to give. I – don't know how to explain it…'

'I think you are doing very well,' Spock said softly, his eyes still fixed on hers. 'I – can understand why you have a dichotomy in your reaction to the event. I certainly do in mine.'

'In – yours,' she began. 'So you've remembered it all?'

Spock nodded. This seemed to be the time for absolute honesty.

'The memory was there in my subconscious. I reviewed it in meditation. I was appalled by Henoch's actions. But I was also – aroused,' he admitted quietly. 'I was aroused by you. Henoch had done what I could never allow myself to do. He had – let loose his control, and allowed biology to rule.'

'I think – ' she began. 'I think that if Henoch were still in existence, I would find it much harder to deal with. But he isn't. He's dead, or – scattered through the universe, or – well, he's not here any more. The only thing left of it is your body, and – I don't dislike your body, Mr Spock,' she said with sudden self-consciousness.

Spock's gaze was gentle, but unrelenting. He stared at her for a long few seconds, and then said, 'You are strong, Christine. I have always admired your strength… I think – that we both must come to terms with what Henoch did. I do feel great guilt at his actions, illogical as that may be. I feel anger at what he did – at his – violation – of both of us. I will master those feelings through meditation and discipline. Are you capable of mastering yours?'

She smiled briefly. 'Perhaps I have an easier job than you, Mr Spock. I don't seek to rid myself of those emotions. But I will come to terms with them. But for now,' she said, her eyes moving to the red bouquet of roses, 'perhaps we should focus on more pleasant things. Would you like to play chess, Mr Spock?'

Spock's eyebrow quirked upwards. 'Captain Kirk suggested in a moment of levity that you may be a Grand Master. Was he correct?'

She smiled enigmatically.

'You'll just have to play me, and find out.'


	6. Chapter 6

6.

'You know, I told Spock to spend time with her, but I didn't expect him to take me _*quite*_ this seriously,' Kirk complained to McCoy as they sat in his quarters one evening. 'I've barely seen Spock off duty in – what – a month? I never expected _*him_* to be the one we lose to women and domesticity.'

'Woman, not women,' McCoy corrected him, taking a long sip of his Saurian brandy and setting the glass down on the desk. 'No, I don't know, Jim. In some ways he's the most traditional of us. He comes from a highly regulated, highly disciplined culture, where your entire future's mapped out for you by age seven. That planning didn't work out for him, but it doesn't mean he's been put off it forever. I've done the marriage thing. I didn't enjoy it. And you – '

Jim smiled. 'No, I don't see myself settling down any time soon,' he said. 'Too many beautiful women in the galaxy for that, I'm afraid.'

McCoy laughed. 'No, I don't see that either, somehow. But Spock – I don't know. He's always struck me as missing a bit of something. Maybe that influence that'd make him – a bit more human, perhaps.' His forehead furrowed. 'Does that make me racist, Jim?'

'It means you care about his happiness,' Kirk said, shaking his head. 'And I think he is happy. I haven't seen him this relaxed in a long time.'

'I thought he was going to drop down in a dead faint when he first found out,' McCoy grinned. 'But you're right. It seems to be working out just fine. Christine's happy. He's happy. And you're sorting out the clearance for their staying on the ship, aren't you?' he asked, a look of concern slipping onto his face.

'I think it's pretty much settled,' Kirk nodded. 'There's the Lexington as precedent, and we've already got an allowance for married quarters. There should be enough room, and I can clear out a suite in the centre of the ship, allowing for maximum protection for the child.'

They sat in silence for a few moments, sipping at their drinks, then Kirk began again, 'Do you think Spock really _*would_* leave the ship, if they won't allow a family on board?'

McCoy shrugged. 'I know Christine wouldn't want to go live on Vulcan, and Spock's insistent on the child having a Vulcan education. I think he's right, too. A brain like that does need certain training and certain stimulus. Honestly, Jim, now he's used to the idea I think he'd follow her to the ends of the galaxy just to be close to the child. He takes his responsibilities very seriously.'

'And what about her?' Kirk asked curiously. 'It's not just about the baby, is it?'

McCoy shook his head. 'I think he loves her, Jim – in her own right, not just because she's carrying his child. You know he's always shown a latent attraction to her. It just needed this to – push him in the right direction.'

'Hmm,' Kirk mumbled, toying with his glass.

'Jim, are you jealous?' McCoy asked suddenly, a smile spreading over his face.

'I wouldn't say I was _*jealous_*, Bones,' Kirk protested. 'It's just – I guess I miss my friend, that's all.'

'Well, Jim – I guess you'll have to settle for me,' McCoy said with a tone of mock-hurt. 'I'll have to improve on my chess. Anyway, when the baby comes, he'll want somewhere to escape to.'

'Yeah, that might be true,' Kirk nodded. He stretched in his chair, rubbing a hand at the back of his neck.

'Muscles aching?' McCoy asked, reaching for his scanner, his professional interest piqued. 'I can give you a shot to help relax that.'

'Oh, it's just my neck and shoulders,' Kirk said, rubbing a hand at his shoulder now. 'But I wouldn't say no to the shot.'

McCoy nodded, reaching to his ever-present medical bag.

'Shouldn't really being doing this, since I've been drinking,' he admitted. 'But you're not going to report me to the captain, are you?'

'My lips are sealed,' Kirk smiled, sighing with the relaxation that came as McCoy released the shot into his neck. 'It's this damn overhaul,' he muttered. 'I know I ordered it, Bones, but it's – I don't know. How can something manage to be so tedious and so tiring both at the same time?'

'I'd say you brought it on yourself, Jim – but you brought it on all of us,' McCoy complained. 'I don't mind rashes and headaches, and even ingrown toenails, but the sheer amount of _*paperwork_* one of these annual checks takes just drives me crazy.'

Kirk smiled. 'We've got to do it once a year, Bones. I thought I might as well get it done before the red communications start arriving from headquarters. Besides, it gives Spock something to focus on. He's been so distracted recently.'

'Can you blame him, Jim?' McCoy smiled. 'He's got a baby on the way, he's still trying to work out his feelings about Christine…'

'The amount of time he spends with her, I'd say he's pretty much worked out,' Kirk grumbled.

'*_I_* know he is. _*You_* know he is. But Spock's got to analyse every goddamn feeling to death. No wonder they go in for arranged marriages on Vulcan, Jim,' McCoy said with a grimace. 'It's because otherwise both parties would be in their dotage before they settle on the fact that they might actually love one another.'

'You think he loves her, then?' Kirk asked, bypassing the humour of McCoy's statement in his preoccupation with Spock.

McCoy shrugged. 'He hangs around sickbay when there's no need to be there. He watches her when he thinks no one's looking, with that look in his eyes. He's – solicitous, and gentle, in a way I haven't seen Spock be with anyone before. He actively seeks out her company. He looks forward to being able to talk with her, exchange ideas with her. Yeah, he loves her.'

'But they haven't – ' Kirk began, then said awkwardly, 'You know…'

'Jim, I haven't discussed with Spock if he's entered full conjugal relations with my head nurse!' McCoy said heatedly. 'And I haven't discussed it with her, either. Really, I don't want to think about it.'

'I'm sorry, Bones,' Kirk said with a smile. 'I'm just concerned for him, that's all. Spock's like a brother to me. More than a brother. And essentially he got dragged into this situation because Henoch used his body to rape a woman. It's an – odd foundation for a relationship.'

'What's normal about life on a starship?' McCoy asked philosophically. 'Spock's a big boy, Jim – and Christine's a big girl, too. They talked about it. They've worked it out. From what I've gleaned it's not as if Henoch held her down and forced her. There are issues there, on both sides, but we have to trust them to work them out on their own.'

'Hmm. Maybe so,' Kirk said, but there was still a tone of doubt to his voice. He glanced over at the clock, seeing that it was close to midnight and between them they had drunk the majority of a bottle of Saurian brandy. 'Bones, I'm going to hit the sack,' he said, pushing his glass aside. 'I've got about two thousands reports to go through tomorrow, and I know already I'm going to have a headache.'

McCoy smiled. 'Drink plenty of water before you go to bed, Jim.' He reached into his bag again. 'And in the morning, take this,' he said, handing the captain a single red pill. 'That'd knock out the granddaddy of all hangovers – leave you fresh as a daisy.'

'Thanks, Bones,' Kirk said, putting the pill carefully in a small box on his desk. 'And good night.'

'Night, Jim,' McCoy said with a warm smile, moving toward the door. 'I know when I'm not wanted.'

'Humph,' Kirk muttered as the door opened. 'I just know you'll have about the same amount of reports to deal with as I have, and it'd be irresponsible to keep you any longer.'

'That much is very true,' McCoy nodded.

He stepped into the corridor, and the door slid shut behind him.

******

Spock was distracted. He was intent on a full recalibration of the shield generators – a task that involved intent, unwavering concentration. And yet, he was distracted. He had, that morning, gained his first glimpse of the awakening of consciousness in the developing foetus. He had put his hand on the tautness of Christine's abdomen, and felt through the intertwining, random thoughts and emotions from her mind, and then, finally, he had caught it. Like a whisper in a crowded room, it just barely reached his senses. A wondering awareness of _*outside*_ itself. An awareness of other consciousness, of the mind of the father reaching out to the mind of the child. It had no idea of relationships such as father, mother and son, but it was reassured in the complete protection of the minds surrounding it.

Spock sighed. He had overlooked yet another series of responses. He absolutely _*had_* to focus his thoughts. He had to drive the domestic out of his mind.

He glanced about the bridge. Kirk looked about as distracted as he did, staring at the same padd held in his left hand that had been there five minutes ago. Kirk had confided to him in the elevator that he had spent the evening drinking with McCoy, and although the tablet the doctor had given him had dispelled the pounding headache he had woken with he still felt fogged with the after-effects of the alcohol.

In some way that helped Spock to focus his own mind. He had no current physical concerns to trouble him as Jim did. It was purely the mental distracting him, and he had not spent years studying mental disciplines to be distracted by the simple touch of yet another mind.

He closed that part of his thoughts away from himself, and turned back to his console, reminding himself of exactly where he was in the process. He immersed himself in the work again, allowing nothing to touch his mind but the reams of figures that told him at exactly what efficiency each inch of the ship's enveloping shields was operating.

The light on Spock's console comm unit flashed, at the same moment that McCoy's voice said, 'McCoy to Commander Spock.'

Spock flicked the channel open immediately, suppressing annoyance at the interruption to his work. The shield recalibration was reaching a delicate stage.

'Spock here,' he said briskly.

'Spock.' McCoy's voice was unaccountably grave. 'You need to come to sickbay.'

'Doctor, I am – ' Spock began.

'_*Now_*, Spock,' the doctor said in a tone that would not accept refusal.

A coldness seemed to seep through Spock's body at that tone of voice, although he did not know why. He turned immediately to the navigation console, saying, 'Chekov, take my post.'

He left the bridge without waiting for a response. There had been something in McCoy's voice that had implied far more than his few brief words had said.

As he entered sickbay McCoy took him by the arm, hurrying him through the ward. His entire bearing was one of exhausted defeat.

'She's unconscious at the moment,' he said. 'Will be for a few hours yet.'

'The baby?' Spock asked, without looking at the doctor.

'Gone,' McCoy murmured, as if even that one word was too much for him to say.

Spock processed that information in an instant, but he pushed it behind rigid shields to deal with later. Deal with the living, and then, when there was time, those beyond help. That was what all of his training had told him.

'Is she in danger?' he asked.

'No,' McCoy said softly. 'She suffered a haemorrhage when she started to reject the foetus. It happened very quickly. It was lucky she was here. She lost a lot of blood, and she's had a transfusion. I kept her unconscious for – the procedure.'

'And there was no chance – ' Spock began, unable to finish his question.

'He – just died, Spock,' McCoy said, shaking his head. 'We had no idea until she started contractions, but he was already gone by then. It – just happens sometimes, with cross-species pregnancies. His – life processes just failed. We couldn't do anything.' He hesitated for a long moment, then said, 'Do you want to see him, Spock?'

Spock closed his eyes slowly, and kept them closed for a few long seconds. Then he nodded his head, once.

'I'll go and clean him up,' McCoy said, glancing towards the operating room. 'Just give me a minute.'

Spock looked at him with a gaze that seemed to pierce him right to the heart.

'There is no need, Doctor,' he said.

'Then – let me come in with you?'

Spock shook his head. 'No, Doctor. I would prefer to be alone.'

McCoy returned his gaze for a moment, and then nodded. 'Spock – er – we were busy trying to save her life,' he said as the Vulcan took a pace towards the room. 'We haven't had a chance to – sort anything out.'

Spock nodded without turning.

'I quite understand, Doctor,' he said.

He disappeared through the sliding door, looking strangely thin and vulnerable as he entered, his hands hanging loose and useless at his sides. McCoy stood, and waited, for what seemed like a very long time. Then Spock came out again, just as composed as he had been when he went in. There was a smudge of red blood across his chest, at the height that one would cradle a child, but he didn't seem to be aware of it.

'There is no need to send someone in to clean him,' he said quietly. 'I have done it.'

McCoy opened his mouth, but something about the Vulcan's face made him stay silent. Spock straightened his top, and drew in a deep breath, then looked directly at the doctor.

'Call me when she shows signs of waking, Doctor,' he said.

McCoy nodded. 'Shall I call Jim and let him know not to expect you – '

Spock's eyebrow rose – a heartbreakingly familiar expression considering the pallid set of his face.

'There is no need. It will only take me a moment to change. I am involved in a complex recalibration of the ship's shields.'

McCoy looked at him, momentarily startled – but Spock was Spock, he reasoned, and Spock would deal with this in his own unique way. He could not find it in himself to judge him.

'All right,' he nodded. 'And Spock,' he said, touching a hand to his arm. 'I'm sorry. I truly am.'

Spock met his eyes again.

'I know, McCoy,' he said quietly, then he swiftly turned and left the sickbay.

******

Kirk had barely noticed that Spock had left and then later rejoined the bridge, absorbed in his own business of checking the many reports that had been to his station for the attention of the captain. During a general overhaul such as the one he had ordered the frequency of these reports tended to double, if not triple, and they were mostly figures and notifications that were deadly dull, but demanded his full attention.

He had seen Spock moving to the lift earlier, and assumed that some factor in the shield recalibration required his attention in another part of the ship. But when a warning light flashed on the arm of his chair, activated by an action at Spock's console, he looked over at the Vulcan in startlement. He occasionally got these warning lights on his chair, but never, never were they related to anything the efficient Vulcan had done.

Spock was bent over his viewer, his fingers spread on the buttons of his console, his face set with intense concentration. Kirk got up and went over to him.

'Spock,' he said quietly.

Spock jumped as if startled, and straightened from the viewer. His face seemed abnormally white, abnormally motionless. Sometimes the lack of emotion on Spock's face gave Kirk the feeling of looking at a brick wall. This was one of those times.

'Spock, I've just had a red light on my panel,' he said in an undertone. 'It looks like when you were adjusting the magnetic fields of the shield generators you reversed the polarity.'

Spock stared at him without moving for a moment, as if Kirk's statement was taking longer than usual to sink in. Then he turned to his viewer, his fingers suddenly swift and sure as he called up the necessary data.

'I – apologise, Captain,' he said finally, turning back to him. 'I have remedied the situation.'

'Spock, in combat that mistake could have killed us,' Kirk reminded him gently.

'Yes,' Spock said blankly. 'Captain,' he said after another moment's silence. 'May I be excused. I am – not fit for duty.'

'Spock, what is it?' Kirk asked him quickly, astonished at the Vulcan's request. Usually it was keeping the Vulcan from taking on too many duties that was the problem.

Spock's mouth worked for a moment, but he didn't seem to be able to find the correct words. Finally he said, 'Please, Jim.'

Kirk looked at him, confused, but then he nodded his head, and gestured toward the door.

'You're excused, Mr Spock. But I want to see you when my shift's over, and I'll expect some explanation.'

Spock stared at him for a moment, before nodding his head briefly, and then leaving the bridge without looking back.

Kirk sat back down in the centre chair, distracted with concern over his first officer.

'Chekov,' he said suddenly. 'Did Spock leave the bridge earlier?'

Chekov turned in his chair to face him, nodding. 'Yes, sir, for about – twenty minutes, I think. I took over the recalibration.' He suddenly looked concerned. 'Did I do something wrong, Captain?'

'No, Ensign,' Kirk said with a smile. 'You didn't do anything wrong. Do you happen to know where he went?'

'He didn't say, sir,' Chekov replied.

Uhura, ever aware of what was happening on the bridge around her, turned in her chair and said, 'I believe he had a message from Dr McCoy, sir. I didn't hear what he said, but I definitely heard his voice just before Mr Spock left the bridge.'

'Thank you, Lieutenant,' Kirk said.

He was suddenly overcome with concern. There was something deeply disturbing about Spock's attitude just before he had left the bridge. He rubbed his thumb over his lips, then realised that Chekov was still watching him.

'Oh – take over Spock's station again, Ensign,' he said quickly. 'He won't be back for the rest of the shift. Best pause the recalibration. Spock can begin where he left off when he's next up here.'

'Aye, Captain,' Chekov nodded smartly. He called a replacement to his own console, then mounted the upper deck and took over the Vulcan's station.

Kirk thought for a moment, then opened a channel to sickbay.

'McCoy here,' the doctor replied. His voice sounded distracted, his attention elsewhere.

'Bones,' Kirk said quietly. 'Was Spock down there about – half an hour ago?'

'Yes, Jim, he was,' McCoy said gravely. 'He's down here now.'

'Bones, what is it?' Kirk asked, his concern deepening. 'He made a mistake on the bridge. That's not like Spock. He asked to be relieved.'

'Jim.' McCoy lowered his voice. Kirk got the distinct impression that Spock was very close by, and the doctor didn't want him to overhear. 'Jim, Christine lost the baby.'

Kirk was silent as he let that sink in. Then he asked, 'When, Bones?'

'About a hour ago, Jim. He just died, and she had a haemorrhage when her body tried to reject the foetus.'

'Then when Spock came back to the bridge before – he knew?' Kirk asked in a stunned tone. 'Bones, why did you let him?'

'How could I stop him, Jim?' McCoy asked. 'You know Spock. He thought he needed to be on the bridge. Anyway, it doesn't matter. He's here now, sitting with her. She's still unconscious.'

Kirk sighed heavily. Suddenly the stacks of reports he had to process didn't seem important at all.

'Bones, do you think he needs company?' he asked. 'I can come down…'

'Who knows what he wants?' McCoy said tiredly. 'No, I'm sorry, Jim. He asked me to leave him alone, but that doesn't mean that that he doesn't want _*anybody_* with him. I'd be inclined to leave him, though. Let him process this in his own head. Offer him comfort when he wants it. It's still sinking in, I think.'

'All right,' Kirk said slowly. He thought for a moment, then said, 'Bones, will you – pass on my condolences? And tell him I've signed him off duty for the week. For at least a week. I know he'll argue with that, but he's entitled to it, and I don't think he's fit for the bridge right now.'

'I will do, Jim,' McCoy said softly. 'McCoy out.'

******

Spock was standing in the doorway to McCoy's office, holding a dark folded cloth in his arms. When McCoy cut off the communication and looked up, it was obvious to him that Spock had caught every hushed word he had spoken, but there was no hint in his dark eyes as to how the words had affected him. As McCoy stood he caught a glimpse of metallic embroidery on the dark fabric that looked strangely familiar to him. He realised with a sudden jolt that it was the cloth that usually lay across the end of the Vulcan's bed, that as far as he was aware had not left that place in all his time on the ship.

'It didn't work out then, on the bridge?' McCoy asked sympathetically.

Spock could repress his emotion all he liked, but the doctor had seen too many people in the past stricken with shock and grief, and there was no denying that Spock was filling the criteria. He looked as if he did not know where to go or who to turn to.

Spock shook his head simply. 'My concentration is not – as it should be.'

'Well, I don't blame you,' McCoy said sympathetically. 'Jim – er – Jim signed you off duty for the week, Spock,' he said awkwardly. 'And I second that.'

Spock nodded slowly, then said, 'Of course.'

'Spock, it may not be regulation,' McCoy continued, 'but this may be the time to prescribe a stiff brandy.'

Spock's eyebrow rose minutely.

'Not right at this second, Doctor,' he said quietly.

McCoy's own eyebrows rose. He had been expecting nothing more than a flat refusal.

'I have – duties to perform here,' Spock said, his fingers clenching awkwardly on the dark cloth he held. 'I needed – something to wrap him in,' he said, before McCoy could ask why he had brought it here.

'Spock, are you sure?' McCoy asked. 'You've had that forever.'

'Since I was born, in fact,' Spock said, in a strangely normal tone of voice. 'My mother used to – ' His voice broke suddenly, and he turned away from the doctor for a moment. Then he turned back, and continued steadily, 'My mother used to wrap me in it, as a baby.'

A ghost of a smile flitted across McCoy's lips at the image of Spock as a baby, of Spock holding onto something akin to a security blanket all this time. Then his face grew grave again as the image transferred from the live, healthy image of an infant Spock, to the cold, still face of the child Spock was proposing wrapping in it.

'You don't, I imagine, have a suitable casket,' Spock continued.

'No, Spock,' the doctor said. 'I – well, I – put him in a supply box for now,' he said, then rushed, 'I'm sorry, Spock. I couldn't leave him lying out as he was, and it was all I could – '

'Doctor,' Spock said firmly, holding up a hand. His eyes were still unreadable. 'I understand. You had no logical alternative.'

'No. I suppose I – ' he began, then trailed off again. 'He's under a stasis beam for now in the morgue. Do you want me to take that cloth, or do you want to do it?'

'It is my duty to him,' Spock said quietly. 'Doctor, will you have a suitable casket made?' he asked, his eyes focussed on a blank patch of the opposite wall instead of McCoy's face.

'Oh – er – of course,' McCoy nodded. 'Is there anything – I mean – Is there anything specific you require?'

Spock shook his head. 'Christine may, of course, feel differently,' he began.

'But she won't want to be thinking about that now, will she?'

'I – don't know,' Spock said, suddenly looking very tired, as if he very much needed to sit down. 'I have a certain knowledge of her mind. She – may…'

'Spock.' McCoy put a hand on his arm, and Spock all but started at the touch. 'I don't think _*you_* want to be worrying about that now, either. I'll get a standard casket made, and if either of you want anything changed later, I can sort it out. Is that all right?'

Spock nodded slowly, seeming dazed. 'Yes, Doctor, that is fine,' he nodded. He turned away, then suddenly seemed to remember something. He turned back, and said sincerely, 'Thank you, McCoy. You have been – '

Words seemed to fail him. McCoy smiled, and touched a hand to his arm. 'I've done just what I'd do for any friend, Spock. Now – will you let me come with you when you wrap him in that cloth?'

Spock hesitated, and for a moment it seemed he was going to refuse – but then he looked directly at McCoy, and nodded.

'Yes,' he said. 'I would welcome your company.'


	7. Chapter 7

7.

Spock stood in the chill atmosphere of the ship's small morgue, his back to McCoy as he meticulously arranged the folds of the dark cloth around the body of the child. The doctor stayed near the door, averting his eyes from Spock's actions out of a sense of the Vulcan's need for privacy. It surprised him when Spock spoke, hesitantly and softly, as if he was succumbing to a very human urge to break the heavy silence in the room.

'Sometimes,' Spock began awkwardly, without turning from his task, 'sometimes, McCoy, you seem to have the power of a god. Sometimes it seems that you can heal any ailment.'

'Not death,' McCoy said flatly, hating himself. _*Why_* couldn't he heal death? Why, if he could transplant organs, set bones, regenerate tissue, _*why_* couldn't he cause lungs to move again, a heart to beat again, a brain spark into life again? What kind of a healer was he?

'No,' Spock said in a thin voice. 'Not death.'

He finished his task, turned the stasis beam on again, and turned around, his face just as composed as it had been as he entered the room. There was something about him, though – perhaps his hands trembled minutely, or his shoulders sat a little lower. He looked – somehow older and more tired than he ever had before. Then McCoy saw something he thought he would never live to see – a slight crinkling of the Vulcan's chin and a tightening of the lips, as if a precursor to tears. The minute change in expression was quickly and ruthlessly controlled.

'Spock,' the doctor said, stepping forward and reaching out both hands to touch Spock's arms. The Vulcan did not resist, so after a moment he cautiously and awkwardly stepped forward, and enclosed Spock in a firm, lasting hug.

'Come on,' he said eventually, releasing the Vulcan and patting his arm. 'Let's go and get that brandy I offered you before. Christine will be waking soon. I want you to have a chance to sit down in some peace and quiet before then.'

Spock nodded wordlessly, following the doctor automatically as he went through the door. McCoy glanced at him. The Vulcan's forehead was minutely creased with thought.

'Spock?' he asked. 'What is it?'

Spock looked at him as if startled, as if he had forgotten momentarily that the doctor was there. Then he said, 'Doctor, is it possible – ' He hesitated, then began again, 'Do you think that _*my_* genetic input may have been at fault?'

McCoy regarded him steadily, then shook his head.

'Spock, you're going to spend a lot of time asking yourself _*why_*,' he said. 'You both are. All I can say is, it's always risky when the mother is of a significantly different species to the child she's bearing, and when the genetics of the child are mixed. Your genetics aren't at fault. They're just – different – to hers, and, this time, it just didn't work out. It doesn't mean it's impossible. I will – do as much of an autopsy as I can, without physical intrusion, and part of that will be a full genetic scan. I'll let you know what I find. I can't do more than that.'

'If – we decided to try again – ' Spock began.

'There is no reason why you shouldn't,' McCoy assured him gently, concealing his surprise at that idea. He had wondered, briefly, whether this would cause Spock to rethink his relationship with Christine. 'And I would monitor her every step of the way. But – Spock – I wouldn't mention that idea to Christine – not yet. Not for a while.'

Spock stared at him. At the moment it seemed that every input was taking seconds longer to process than usual. Then he said, 'I had no thought of mentioning it to her. But – it was logical to ask, now, while you still have the chance to – examine the child.'

'Yes,' McCoy said slowly. It was strangely reassuring to hear Spock speak of logic in this oddest of times. 'Of course. Come on,' he said again, putting his hand on Spock's arm again. 'Come sit down, and just take a few moments, without thinking about things that have to be done, or what might have been. Just – take a little time out of it all.'

Spock looked directly at him, and something seemed to relax inside him.

'That – is a remarkably sensible suggestion,' he said quietly. 'I doubt that the Vulcan discipline of *_kohlan_* meditation is often combined with alcohol, but on this occasion, I will try it.'

******

Christine woke to silence, and warmth, and the crisp comfort of a blanket tucked over her by professionals. Her arm was held immobile by something that she knew to be a drip infuser. Her mouth was dry, and her body ached indefinably, and she felt – empty…

She turned her head, blinking, her thoughts still half-numbed by the drugs in her system. Spock was there, sitting by the bed, immaculately neat as always, his face grave and his eyes fixed steadily on her.

She put a hand suddenly to her abdomen, and then, after a moment, her eyes widened, and she looked at the impassive Vulcan.

He said quietly, 'He is gone,' and she said simply, 'Oh…'

And then memory flooded back.

'There was nothing he could do…' she remembered, and then slipped into silence. She felt as if there was no one else in the world but her.

She turned over onto her side, a lifeless movement that was spoilt by the unrelenting grip of the drip infuser on her arm. She didn't feel heavy any more. She noticed somewhere in her mind that there was a dull soreness across her abdomen. There would have been no time for medical transporters. McCoy would have had to cut him out of her like a sickness, like a weed from a garden…

She said brokenly to no one, 'I want him back…'

Tentatively, as if he was suddenly unsure of the familiarity that had grown between them, Spock put out a hand to touch her shoulder, where the wide-necked hospital gown revealed bare, pale skin. Her mind was brushed with an awareness, a very gentle awareness, of all the things that he could not express, growing softly in her mind like a sunrise. His grief would have overwhelmed her, were it not that he was keeping it thickly veiled, so that it was like a soft layer of cobweb over her own piercing pain.

She began to sob inconsolably, and Spock's hand tightened on her shoulder, the heat of his fingers sinking into her skin. He did not have the insensitivity to try to console her. He let the quiet, saddened feelings in his mind wrap around hers, supporting them, containing them. Her grief felt like something dangerous, that could explode through her skin like shrapnel, but Spock was cradling her, holding her safely so that she could let the feelings run wild without fear.

She slept again, and woke again, and Spock was still there, with his eyes still fixed unwaveringly on her face as if he was reading her mind just by looking.

He handed her a glass of iced water. She hadn't realised she was thirsty, but when she took it and opened her mouth her lips cracked with dryness. Her tongue felt like something dead and swollen in her mouth, and the water seemed to give it new life.

'Thank you,' she said in a ghostly voice.

Spock simply nodded. She looked at him, pulling herself away from the selfishness of grief for a moment to assess _*his_* condition. His face was pale, and his eyes were faintly rimmed with green – not with tears, she thought, but with tiredness. She could not imagine Spock crying. Even if his entire world was ripped away from him, she could not imagine Spock crying.

'Are you all right?' she asked.

The question seemed trite, hollow even – but she couldn't find the energy to think of something more personal.

Spock's eyebrow rose a few millimetres.

'I am all right _*enough_* – to take care of your needs before my own,' he said.

'Spock, you feel this too, don't you,' she said in a fractured voice. It was not a question.

Spock closed his eyes, and nodded his head, once.

'How long have you been here?' she asked.

Spock blinked, the moment of thought it was taking him to calculate betraying his tiredness.

'Six point one three hours,' he said.

'Go rest,' she told him firmly.

He shook his head, his face set with the stubborn expression she had grown to recognise.

'My place is here,' he said.

A sudden doubt flooded over her, and she said, 'Spock, don't stay here out of duty, please. I'd rather be alone than that.'

The moment of pain on Spock's face convinced her faster than any words.

'Christine,' he said softly, reaching out to touch her arm with hot, steady fingers. 'You have touched my mind. You _*do_* know. There is no need for uncertainty.'

'I'm not used to being in a relationship with a man who can't lie to me,' she said, with the ghost of a smile.

'Do men often lie to you?' Spock asked curiously.

Her smiled gained a little more body. It was like inhaling nitrous oxide, this odd bubble of normality momentarily nullifying everything else.

'Not often,' she said carefully. 'But sometimes. Roger lied to me…'

'I am not Roger.'

She looked at him, assessing the differences. He couldn't be more different from Roger, more different from any human man…

And suddenly she began to cry.

'Christine,' Spock said, an odd note of pleading entering his voice. His hand tightened on her arm. His mind was too quick to overlook the link between his difference to her human ex-fiancé and her sudden renewal of grief. 'Christine, I am sorry,' he began helplessly.

She stared at him through a veil of tears that stung her eyes and blurred her sight.

'I don't – think for a moment this was your fault,' she forced out, reaching clumsily for his hand. 'I don't. It was just – just – '

She became incoherent, and Spock waited patiently, until finally she said, 'He was going to be _*my_* little Vulcan…'

Spock's hand tightened on hers, and he didn't speak, but she heard, _*Our little Vulcan_*.

He closed his eyes. She stared at him momentarily, then looked at the drip over her arm, quickly assessing the readings on the small screen. It was acceptable. She wrested her hand free of his long enough to disengage both the device and the attached alarm, and then sat up slowly and shakily in the bed.

Spock looked at her, a protest on his lips, but she shook her head, and quickly encircled him with her arms. He clung to her as if she was the only thing keeping him from falling, surrounding her with the pure heat and strength that she had come to love. His head pressed into her neck, his breath hot on her skin, and she stroked her hand up and down his back.

'It'll be all right,' she found herself whispering. 'It'll be all right. We'll find some way to make it better…'

******

'Spock?'

Spock jumped at Jim's soft, hesitant voice from the doorway behind him. Somehow he had fallen asleep. They had both fallen asleep, arms locked about each other's bodies, the skin of their cheeks stuck together by a lingering dampness.

Very carefully Spock manoeuvred Christine back onto the bed. She stirred a little and murmured something incoherent, but then settled back into the kind of sleep only exhaustion could bring. Spock tucked the blanket around her, then stood up to face his captain, trying to muster some dignity.

'Spock, it's all right,' Kirk said, waving a hand in dismissal as Spock began to straighten his top. 'It doesn't matter.'

Spock nodded silently. He took another brief look at Christine, then slipped silently out of the room. Kirk followed him, putting a hand on his friend's arm.

'Spock, I'm sorry,' he said. 'And I'm sorry I was harsh on the bridge. I didn't know…'

'I hardly expected you to,' Spock said. 'And an explanation was owing. Captain, regarding my time off duty – '

'That's not optional, Spock,' Kirk said firmly. 'As much for the ship as for you.'

Spock shook his head. 'I had no intention of arguing. I simply wished to thank you for your understanding.'

'Oh,' Kirk said, taken aback. 'Well – it's statutory, Spock. You're entitled to it.'

'Very little is statutory when one is the first officer of a starship,' Spock pointed out.

Kirk nodded. 'I know. But I'll do my very best not to disturb you this week. We haven't got anything important lined up.'

Spock nodded his thanks, silently. He didn't doubt Jim's word – but he also knew that if something important did occur, he would have to respond. That was simply the way of life on a starship.

'Spock, Bones told me you've been in there for eight hours straight,' Kirk continued, nodding toward Christine's room. 'Will you take a break? Come and have some food – or at least a hot drink. You're only a minute away, wherever you are on the ship.'

Spock considered briefly, and then nodded. There was a tangible relief in the idea of leaving the room, even for a few minutes. The scents and sounds of sickbay rarely signified anything positive. Life on the rest of the ship, at least, was going on as normal. Very few people beyond certain medical staff even knew of the pregnancy, let alone of its abrupt termination.

'Is she all right?' Kirk asked as they walked towards the door.

'As can be expected,' Spock replied. 'She is a human woman.'

He said that last sadly, almost as a sigh, and Kirk looked at him quickly, wondering what had been behind those words. Was Spock disappointed by Christine's human frailty, or perhaps by her emotional reaction?

Spock caught his look, and shook his head. 'I – grieve for her pain,' he said quietly. 'I – do not know how to make it better.'

'You're being with her,' Kirk reminded him. 'That will make it better, Spock. We may not have all the mental disciplines and techniques of Vulcans, but we manage. And what about your pain?' he asked pointedly.

Spock pressed his lips together, looking ahead of himself down the corridor.

'It will be managed,' he said.

Kirk put his hand to Spock's arm in a gesture of comfort. He could feel an unusual tension in the muscles just under the thin blue sleeve. Spock was grieving. It would not be obvious to most, but it was obvious to him.

'I'm sorry, my friend,' he said again. 'I know none of this was exactly planned, but for this to happen…'

'Very few of the important occasions in life can be accurately planned,' Spock said philosophically. 'I did not expect the pregnancy. I did not want it, at first. But I had come – to accept it, and to anticipate its fruition. And now – '

He trailed off into silence, his eyes focussed on nothing but mid-distance again.

'Come on in here,' Kirk said, turning towards the door to his quarters.

Spock blinked as they entered. He had hardly taken note of the course they were taking, and had expected Kirk to choose the recreation room, or perhaps one of the meeting rooms nearer to the sickbay.

'I have access to things not accessible through the replicators here,' Kirk said by way of explanation. 'Besides, I thought you'd want some privacy.'

Spock nodded slowly. 'Yes. Very thoughtful, Captain.'

He sat down without being asked in the chair opposite Kirk's desk, and steepled his fingers before his face. He knew that logically solitude and meditation should be more beneficial to his state of mind, but he had to admit that Kirk's presence was comforting.

'Here you are, Spock,' Kirk said, putting a glass of pale blue Romulan ale down before him.

Spock picked it up and gazed into the clear blue drink. He could see his fingers through it, distorted through both the liquid and the glass, oddly tinted and removed from reality. This was how he felt, he realised. Odd, that a glass of alcohol could provide a metaphor for an emotion…

'Humans seem to believe that alcohol is the solution to bereavement,' he said in a level tone. 'The good doctor has already pressed brandy on me.'

'I can get you something else if you like,' Kirk said quickly, anxious to accommodate the Vulcan's wishes. He didn't want to cause him any more distress than he was already suffering, no matter how little.

Spock shook his head. 'I am inclined to believe that humans may be correct – at least in part,' he said, putting the glass to his lips. He swallowed a small mouthful of the ale, and the corners of his lips tightened momentarily.

Kirk shut the bottle back in his cupboard and came to sit down. He couldn't imagine that anyone would thank him for encouraging Spock to drink _*too_* much at this time. He leaned back in his chair, surrounded by silence, as the Vulcan steadily sipped at his drink. Spock sat still, with his fingers curled around the glass. He seemed content not to talk, and Kirk wasn't keen to discuss what had just happened unless Spock wanted to. It seemed enough for his friend that he was providing him with company.

Kirk regarded Spock's face as he sipped at his own drink. There was nothing about the Vulcan that would look different to a casual observer, but Jim _*knew_* his friend. His face was a few shades paler than usual, and his lips had a tightness about them that spoke of repressed pain. The last time he had seen Spock looking anything like this was well over half a year ago, when he had straightened up abruptly from his viewer to announce that he had sensed the death of over four hundred Vulcans on the Intrepid.

How did that time compare to this? Those Vulcans had been of Spock's race, of Spock's blood – but they were anonymous, faceless figures, far distant over miles of empty space. This had been – Spock's child. Kirk had barely realised that until now. Spock had not talked about it, certainly not on duty, and very little in private. A Vulcan's family, it seemed, was not a subject for idle gossip. Kirk had not even known about the status of Spock's parents until they had beamed about the _Enterprise_ as Mr and Mrs Ambassador Sarek of Vulcan. And the developing life of his child had been an even more private thing, between him and the mother, and perhaps occasionally the doctor involved in the case.

Yes. It was obvious that Spock was grieving. He was grieving silently, internally, without fuss or demonstration. He was grieving in a very Vulcan, very private way. But he was undoubtedly grieving.

'Let me fix you something to eat,' Kirk said eventually, straightening up in his chair again.

Spock started, looking down at his glass and realising it was empty. Perhaps he was hungry. Eating certainly could not hurt, and it was imperative that he keep himself in acceptable physical condition so that he could support Christine.

He nodded, and said, 'Yes, thank you. A logical idea.'

'Any preferences?' Kirk asked, getting up out of his chair. 'Fricasseed Andorian malpa? K'valch? Tofu salad?'

Spock raised an eyebrow, coming out of his abstraction a little more and focussing on his immediate surroundings. Jim was trying to amuse him. He supposed it would be logical to let him succeed.

'Jim, vegetarianism can present one with just as varied and interesting a diet as that of an omnivore,' he said, with a hint of lightness.

'Maybe so,' Kirk nodded, 'but you can't go wrong with a good steak.'

'You will find Vulcan pashak programmed into the main replicator banks,' Spock said in a level tone, choosing to ignore Kirk's assertion. 'It is quite a pleasant meal. I'm sure you would enjoy it.'

Kirk grimaced momentarily, then seemed to rethink, and shrugged his shoulders. 'Two helpings of pashak coming up, then. Don't ever say I won't try anything new.'

'I would never say that of you,' Spock replied.

He sat waiting as Kirk busied himself at the replicator. His mind dragged itself relentlessly back to the sickbay, to that perfect, lifeless body, to Christine's grief-ravaged face. He had no desire to expose himself to that again. But he would. He would open himself up to the wrenching emotions that the idea of the child provoked, and to Christine's seemingly uncontainable grief, and he would try to heal both her mind and his. It was his only option. The bond that had grown between them over the last few months would only intensify now. That was the irony of this situation. The life of the child had drawn them together. The death of the child would seal their bond in mutual dependency. They would have to heal each other, and every time he thought of that one woman's face as she lay in sickbay his love for her deepened. Spock had encountered no one before in his life who truly _*needed_* him, logically, emotionally, sexually. And he needed her, he realised. Who else could understand that human part of him, protect it against harm, cherish the Vulcan in him, desire him as a whole, not as two mismatched halves? She accepted him, exactly as he was.

'Spock,' Kirk said, nudging at his shoulder as he put a plate down before him. 'What're you thinking about?' he asked softly as he sat.

Spock's eyebrow raised. 'Death. Grief. Love…'

'Love?' Kirk echoed. It was not often that he heard Spock speak that word.

'I believe I loved the child,' Spock said carefully. 'I – believe I love Christine Chapel.'

'You *_believe* _you love her?' Kirk asked with a smile. 'Were you not certain, Spock?'

Spock shook his head briefly. 'Certainty is difficult, where emotions are concerned. But – even as I grieve the death of the child, I am – extremely relieved that _*she_* is safe. I cannot imagine continuing without her.'

'That sounds like love,' Kirk smiled. He recalled a similar conversation he had shared a few months ago with the Vulcan. Then, Spock had determined that he was probably attracted to the nurse. Despite the tragedy of what had happened, there was some spark of hope in the fact that Spock had now discovered love, in all of its pain and pleasure.

******

Christine stood unsteadily in the ship's morgue, Spock's hand warm on her shoulder. She had been in here so many times. She had seen the faces, the broken bodies, of so many people in this place – crewmembers, aliens, friends. It seemed that only those who died too soon passed through this place. It was rare to find a death from old age in a starship's logs. It was always sad here, but she protected herself from the horror with humorous quips and banter when the bodies were unfamiliar, and pushed through the sadness and simply did her job when a friend lay before her.

This time was like none of those times. She stood in a haze, still wearing a brief blue patient's dress, slim slip-on sandals on her feet. Her hair was a mess. Her face was pale and without makeup. Her entire body felt pale and without makeup.

Dr McCoy had tried to dissuade her from doing this. He had tried to dissuade her from getting up so soon, from exposing herself to this pain.

Spock had understood. Spock, who had done the same thing himself, who had performed the duty of cleansing their baby and preparing it for burial. He understood why she _*had_* to see the face of this child who would never be.

She didn't know what to do. She didn't know whether to just stand and stare, or to unwrap him so that she could know every inch of his body, or to pick him up and hold him as if he was a real, living baby. Eventually she did that, silently unwrapping the dark, rich material that Spock had gifted to the child and cradling him against her, refusing to cry, refusing to acknowledge that she was saying goodbye.

Eventually she put him down, and Spock wrapped him again in the comforter that had become a shroud, and replaced him in the casket, and closed the lid. She stood there staring at it, unbelieving. How could her eyes be so dry? How could her heart feel so huge and hard in her chest?

*_It's so small,*_ she thought. _*Like a cat in a shoebox. Just nothing…_*

'The normal option would be burial in space,' Spock was saying in a monotone.

*_I can't,_* she thought slowly.

'He'd be cold,' she said aloud. 'Cold, and all alone… I can't…'

_*I want to hold him again. I want hold him in my arms until he's warm again. I want to comfort him, protect him…_*

She expected Spock to say something about it not being logical. About it being impossible for the dead to feel, to need comfort. But he said,

'He can be kept here. We will be near enough to Vulcan in five days to warrant a diversion. My family has a burial place there. He will be warm enough there.'

She gave a sudden, half-hysterical laugh, and fell against him, pressing her face against his chest and sobbing without restraint. After a moment of hesitation Spock's arms closed about her back, and he held her tightly and unwaveringly. She could feel – sadness. A sadness that wasn't hers. A controlled, clear, intense agony that went deeper than she could fathom. She wanted to murmur the same words of comfort to him that he had said to her, but she couldn't make herself speak.

He understood. She could feel that. There was no active connection, no words, but he could tell what she wanted to say but couldn't, and he understood.

'My little boy,' she whispered, and Spock's hand moved up to cradle the back of her head, his fingers slipping into her hair and gently stroking her, holding her in absolute silence as she gradually recovered some control.

'The fact that I do not cry,' he said eventually, his head pressed against the side of hers, 'does not mean that I do not care.'

'You don't need to tell me that,' she whispered. Then the sobs crashed through again, despite the fact that her throat ached as if she had swallowed a stone, and her chest burnt, and her skull seemed to be splitting apart with the effort of it.

*_This is grief_,* she thought, somewhere far away from the weeping that would not stop. _*A physical thing. As if something were beating me, and beating me, and never stopping…_*

_*Yes._*

Spock's voice was in her mind, like an afterthought or a memory. It was no intrusion.

_*Yes,_* he thought, partly in simple agreement and partly in startled realisation.

He had not realised before what grief was, she realised – how deep it reached and how wide it spread, and how it seemed to consume one's entire being with its selfish need. He had never truly lost anyone.

He seemed to lean forward, and to fall softly into her grief, into her mind, entwining into her misery and supporting its many tendrils with his own, until they were locked together by the one shared emotion. And gradually she grew exhausted, and somehow Spock had managed to get her back to her sickbay room, and he moved with her to the bed, his arms and his mind still entwined with hers, and then she was sleeping, and his mind was protecting hers from the horrors of unconscious dreams.


	8. Epilogue

Epilogue

Vulcan

The sun rose red and hot over the rocky crags about Spock's family burial ground. The place was silent, and deserted but for two figures standing close to one another at the edge of the circular arena. The burial markers were, almost without exception, aged and sand-scoured, their long dawn shadows stretching out across the ground. The one exception was a freshly carved memorial spire, that was being firmly cemented to its spot over a small cavity in the bedrock by a Vulcan whose expression was not quite neutral. The writing on the spire was in both Vulcan and English – unprecedented in this graveyard that had only ever received Vulcan blood.

It had not been easy for Spock to explain to Sarek, as the head of the family, why he required permission to use the place for a burial, but Sarek had startled him with a very gentle and caring level of understanding. Spock had requested solitude, and that had been respected. There were no ministers or advisers in logic watching over the ceremony, what ceremony there was. It was just the two of them, he and Christine, standing in the silent, peaceful arena high up in the mountains as the dawn sun began to burn its way across the land.

It was the hardest thing that Christine had ever done, acknowledging that there would never be life in that small body that had been kept so perfect under stasis, and committing it irrevocably to the Vulcan rock. Up until that moment that had always been that spark of hope, irrational, desperate hope, that McCoy would discover a mistake, or that somehow the body would revive. She woke from dreams where the child had sat up from its perfect, tiny casket, and smiled at her, and spoken. She woke from dreams where terrible mix-ups had occurred, where Spock had suddenly discovered a forgotten Vulcan technique and touched the child and woken him from his sleep.

Spock had told her one quiet evening about the Katra, the Vulcan soul, and how when a death was natural, or expected, that soul could be transferred to another, and then to a katric ark for safekeeping. But that was almost always done by an action on the part of the dying. It was done with conscious comprehension. There had been no comprehension in that tiny soul when it had slipped from life. In desperation she had pleaded with Spock to search in her own mind, and finally he had agreed, and found nothing. But what hope could she have gained from it, she wondered, to think that her child was a bewildered, comfortless ghost in a sea of Vulcan souls?

No. She was committing his body to the ground. She was committing his soul to the ground. There had been no possessions or attachments to linger on. Everything he had ever been was sealed beneath that graceful spire. And he was gone, and there was nothing that could…

She was crying again, the sound of it bursting around the silent arena, as unnatural as she was in this alien place. And Spock took her patiently in his arms again and held her more tightly and more gently that she had thought possible, until the crying passed. She could not imagine what she would have done without that solid, calm, dependable figure who seemed to have inexhaustible patience with her every emotional whim.

'Do I have to leave him here?' she whispered, her face hard against his shoulder.

'Yes,' Spock said steadily. He touched his lips to her hair in the briefest of kisses. 'The only thing that you can do is to let go. There is nothing now to hold onto.'

'Can I hold onto you?' she asked, an odd suggestion of laughter finding its way into the tears.

'Yes, you can hold onto me,' Spock said calmly. 'I will not be leaving you.'

'Spock, are you crying?' she asked, keeping her face pressed onto his shoulder, not looking up. She knew that there were no tears in his eyes, no tremor in his voice, but there was something in his mind… Some thread she could not quite catch hold of. Mind sensing was a learning process.

'Yes, I am crying,' he said after a moment of hesitation, in a voice just as calm as before. 'But – I am not despairing. I am looking forward, as well as back.'


End file.
